Dementia On Steroids
by HermanTumbleweed
Summary: As it seems in-vogue to have a file where weird things that fall out of the author's head can reside for your perusal and comment, this is my own personal place to store the weirdness that comes from my brain on occasion. Rated M for possible adult topics
1. Chapter 1

Harry Potter and the Newest Dark Lord

by

Herman Tumbleweed

**Disclaimer:** I am the king of the world! I own everything! Even my pshrink agrees. No Dark Lords were seriously harmed in the making of this fic, no puppies either. Seriously, J K Rowling owns Harry Potter, along with a bunch of book publishers and movie making companies. No copyright infringement is intended, and no remuneration is being received by the author.

**A/N:** Some may notice that I have borrowed mmail and the magical internet from Jeconais' hilarious story This Means War, who borrowed it from Anya who invented it in her great story The Naked Quidditch Match. If you've not read either of those and are really up to having a hoot, go read 'em.

--

"Mr Potter?"

"Yes Stephen?"

"A gentleman just flooed for an appointment."

"Oh?"

"He says his name is the Dark Lord Vinny."

"Vinny?"

"Yes, sir, Vinny. He's Italian."

"And?"

"He wants to meet you at Stonehenge, sir, and in his own words, "to kick your ass back to the dark ages."

"Kick my arse?"

"He used the American form, ass, sir. He's a Yank."

"Ass; wants to kick my ass, and he's Italian?"

"Yes, sir; from New York."

"Why?"

"Sir?"

"Sorry, Stephen, I meant to ask why is he here in the UK?"

"Oh, I have done a bit of checking on him, sir, and it seems he was excommunicated by the Catholic Church last year. I understand the Pope signed the order himself.

"The Pope."

"Yes, sir."

"And now he wants to kick my arse…er back to the dark ages?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you have any idea which of the three I pissed off?"

"Sir?"

"You do realize this is the fifth so-called dark lord this year, don't you? The three sisters or whatever they are called, Fate, Destiny, and, er, what's her name."

"Yes, sir. As you are aware, I always keep a journal of the events in your rather eventful life, sir, so I always know how many such incidents have occurred in any given time span. And that would be Chance, sir. I also believe you are mixing your mythologies, sir. The ones I presume you mistook them for are the Three Sisters of Fate from Greek and Roman mythology. They spun, measured, and cut the thread of life. Of course that is a simplistic explanation…

"Thank you, Hermione, er, I mean Stephen."

"Yes, sir. My apologies, I do get a bit carried away at times."

"As does my friend from school"

"Yes, sir. We've met, as you know, and had some interesting discussions."

"I'm sure you have, Stephen. To get back on track here, who is this purported Dark Lord Vinny, and why in the world does he want to, or even think he can, kick my arse back to the dark ages. Although, given the state of the modern world, there are times when that prospect is not totally disagreeable. Merlin, I've been hanging around you and Hermione way too much, Stephen, now I'm starting to sound like the two of you.

"Yes, sir.

"Stephen, do we know any more about "Vinny"?

"Sorry, sir, that was all I could dredge up on the magical internet so far. I am so glad Miss Hermione invented that, sir. It has wonderfully aided in my education of the Wizarding World. I don't know what I'd have done had she not…

"Stephen!"

"Yes, sir?"

"You're channelling Hermione again. Are you sure she's still alive?"

"Oh, yes, sir. I received an mmail from her just a bit ago and she was fine then."

"Oh, good. Now, anything else we can find out, perhaps from the Ministry? And why did I ever let that witch talk me out of hiring Dobby? He wouldn't be a slave and wouldn't talk quite as much; instead I have an over-zealous butler and valet."

"I shall check, sir. I'm afraid I cannot answer your question, sir. I do apologize if I go on and on at times, sir, but I do find the Wizarding World and its interaction, or lack thereof with the Muggle one rather fascinating."

"Fascinating. Right. Could you perhaps honour my request for further information of our would-be arse kicker?"

"I'd be happy to, sir. I'll call Miss Hermione at the Department of Mysteries just now; shall I?"

"By all means, Stephen. Please try to keep it down to half an hour. By the way, did the "Dark Lord Vinny give any indication of when he expected me to meet him at… Stonehenge?"

"Er, no sir. He only said he wished to make an appointment. He was actually rather pleasant, much like the fellows in that Yank film trilogy, The Godfather. They were nearly always quite pleasant, even when they were about to kill someone."

"Never saw it."

"No, sir, I don't suppose, growing up as you did. We really should get a telly for your apartments, sir, with a dvd player. You could use a little quiet entertainment. The Godfather, sir, has been called the I Ching of manhood, by the way. I believe that line was used in the Movie You've Got Mail when Tom Hanks was communicating with Meg Ryan."

"Stephen?"

"Yes, sir?"

"I think you watch too much telly."

"So I've been told, sir. I'll be off to ring Miss Hermione now."

"That's good, Stephen. Don't let me keep you."

"Of course, sir. I shall return shortly, I'm sure."

"I am too. I wonder if it's too late to hire Dobby."

"Sir?"

"Nothing Stephen, just musing about things to myself."

"Very good, sir."

--

"Mr Potter?"

"Yes, Stephen, did you find out more on this Vinny person?"

"Indeed I did, sir."

"And…"

"He is indeed from New York and is the son of a very powerful crime lord there. He is also the first Wizard in that family for about seventeen generations, sir."

"Seventeen generations?"

"Yes sir."

"That would be about, what, three hundred and fifty years?"

"Give or take, yes, sir."

"Who in the bloody hell keeps track of such things, for Merlin's sake?"

"The Vatican, sir."

"The Vatican? As in where the Pope hangs out?"

"Yes, sir, that Vatican."

"Is there another Vatican, Stephen?"

"Not that I am aware of, sir, though I understand there is a town in Missouri in the Colonies named Vatican."

"I really think, once again, that was more than I really wanted to know. So, why has the first wizard in this family in three hundred and fifty years, give or take, decided to be a dark lord when all he has to do is use his magic to make sure his "family" comes out on top in everything. Hell's half acre, he could rule the crime world, including the idiot so-called drug lords."

"Yes, sir, that is all true."

"Did you consider my question rhetorical, Stephen, or do you just not have an answer?"

"The former, sir. Did you want an answer?"

"Yes, please, Stephen."

"Of course, sir. It seems that Mr Vinny, whose real name is Vincent DiCaprea, is the youngest son of the crime lord, Antonio DiCaprea, of the DiCaprea crime family which operates out of New York, though they do have operations all over the Colonies and in a great many foreign countries. Crime knows no boundaries it would seem, and has become a multi-national concern these days.

Regardless, Mr DiCaprea was educated at a prestigious boys school, as have all of his family until the age of ten, when they usually go on to a very prestigious boys prep school. He, however, was invited and subsequently sent to the Salem Witches and Wizards Institute where he excelled in all his classes, graduating with honours. He was especially good in Transfiguration and Defence, or so I gathered from his grades."

"Hold on, two questions, Stephen.

"Yes, Sir?"

"You said Salem Witches and Wizards Institute, which I always thought was called by only the "Witches" part of that. And, what do you mean defence. Is it like our Defence Against the Dark Arts classes or what?"

"The first answer is Title Nine, sir."

"Title Nine."

"Yes, sir."

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

"I once again apologize, sir, in that I forgot you have not the interest in politics that I have…

"Nor an interest in driving people bugshit…"

"I'm sorry, did you say something, sir?"


	2. Chapter 2

(Previously on)

THE NEWEST DARK LORD

by Herman Tumbleweed

_"The first answer is Title Nine, sir."_

_"Title Nine."_

_"Yes, sir."_

_"Is that supposed to mean something to me?"_

_"I once again apologize, sir, in that I forgot you have not the interest in politics that I have…  
_

_"Nor an interest in driving people bugshit…"_

_"I'm sorry, did you say something, sir?"  
_

_"Nothing, Stephen, please continue."_

"Title Nine sir, which is usually designated by the Roman numeral equivalent, is a U. S. law passed in nineteen seventy-two which prohibits discrimination based on sex in educational venues, or at least those receiving governmental support."

"And Salem receives support from the government?"

"Yes, sir. In the Colonies the government supports all of the magical schools so all children can afford to attend. I understand it is a budget item in the Department of Defence under toilet seats."

"Toilet seats?"

"Yes, sir."

"Must be some pricey toilet seats by the time they get to whoever orders them."

"Yes, sir, upwards of twelve hundred dollars at times, or so I read."

"Stephen…"

"Yes, sir?"

"You seem to… erm, never mind, Stephen. Tell me about the defence thing, since we kind of skipped over that to toilet seats."

"Yes, sir. In the Colonies they combine magical defence, similar to your Defence Against the Dark Arts classes, with physical defence in such areas as martial arts, boxing and military style hand to hand combat. They also include fencing, swordsmanship, firearms training, and a host of disciplines tailored to the needs or wants of the individual…"

"Thank you, Stephen, I believe I understand."

"Yes, sir. Very good, sir."

"Anything else we know about… Vinny?"

"Why yes, sir. I did find in the Vatican database that he was excommunicated for being a wizard, and for some rather shady dealings with a company who was trying to take over a company owned by the Vatican."

"Shady company…"

"Yes, sir."

"And you hacked the Vatican database?"

"Oh no, sir, I'm nowhere near that much of a computer expert. That was Miss Hermione, sir."

"Hermione."

"Yes, sir."

"And why, pray tell, did the best friend I've ever had hack the Vatican's database?"

"I believe because it was there and had never been done before."

"Because it was there?"

"Yes, sir. Like Mount Everest, sir."

"Mount Everest?"

"Yes, sir."

"And…?"

"Oh, sorry, sir, I don't suppose you'd know that the main reason people climb mountains around the world, sir, is because they are there."

"So Hermione hacked the Vatican database because it was there."

"Yes, sir, and because it had never been done before."

"Has she hacked anyone else's database?"

"Oh yes, sir. She recently hacked the Goblin database which of course also controls the Bank of England, Chase, Bank of America, and Podunk Arkansas Bank and Trust Company."

"Goblins…"

"Yes, sir."

"Does my dear friend have a death wish?"

"Not that I'm aware of sir. She didn't even let them know she'd done it for several days. I believe she sent them an anonymous owl, sir, telling them where to look for the evidence she had done so."

"I see, and did she happen to mention what evidence she left them?"

"She was quite proud of it, sir, and I can't say as I blame her. She left a message on your next statement which simply says, and I quote, "Jill ran up the hill to hit Jack over the head with the bucket for being a sexist pillock. She then drew the pail of water and carried it down herself.""

"Sexist pillock."

"Yes, sir. I thought it was amusing, sir."

"Yes, and it was on MY bank statement?"

"Yes, sir. Quite ingenious if you ask me, you being their most famous client as well as their wealthiest."

"Wealthiest?"

"Yes, sir. Did you not know?"

"Er, actually Hermione balances my cheque book each month, so I never paid any attention."

"Yes, sir, you really should consult a financial manager, sir. Miss Hermione mentioned you have an immense amount of money just lying fallow in your vaults which could be doing so much good for both the Wizarding and Muggle economies."

"Economies."

"Yes sir, I believe Miss Hermione suggested you go to a local college and take a few business classes so you better understand your financial picture."

"Financial picture."

"Yes, sir."

"Hmm, I do seem to recall Hermione prattling on about something to that effect, but I quickly got lost when she started talking about amortizzy, and breaking taxes, and such."

"Begging you pardon, sir, but that would be amorTIZing and tax breaks."

"Perhaps you and Hermione are right that I need to learn this stuff. Here I am, nearly 20 years old, hated the Auror Academy because of all the Ministry bull crap so I quit, and apparently I'm richer than Creases so I don't have to work anyway. All the bloody damn Quidditch teams want is my name so they can draw bigger crowds, but all the ones I talked to made it clear I'd only get to play part of a game. They didn't want their star to get hurt… bastards."

"Education is never wasted, sir. I myself have a masters degree in literature, though I enjoy learning of many things. And that would be pronounced Creesus, sir, spelled C-r-o-e-s-u-s."

"Creesus."

"Yes, sir. He was King of a country called Lydia in approximately 50 B.C.E which was located in what is now western Turkey."

"Turkey, how nice… wonder how the Turks deal with know-it-all butlers. Oh Dobby where are you?"

"Yes, sir. What was that other, sir, I didn't quite get that."

"Nothing, Stephen; just reminding myself about something. You have a masters degree?"

"Why yes I do, sir. It has come in quite handy over the years in helping me to better understand those I serve and to assist them in handling their affairs at time."

"I see. Well, I don't really see, but what's a wizard to do with…"

"I'm sorry, sir, but did you want something else of me at this time. You do seem rather preoccupied, what with the murmuring and all."

"I apologize, Stephen, I was just sitting here wondering why I, of all people, a guy who never wanted to be anything but accepted and loved…"

"Might I make a suggestion, sir?"

"Of course, Stephen, go on then."

At your age, sir, you should be dating and perhaps have a girlfriend. You seem to avoid young women like the plague, sir, if you don't mind my saying so. I'm sure I could arrange for you to meet some young ladies of quality befitting a man of your stature in the community, sir, quite discretely of course. However, if it is your leaning, sir, I could arrange as easily and quietly for you to meet some nice young men of good breeding."

"Gck!"

"What was that, sir?"

"Young **men**, Stephen?"

"Certainly, sir, and only from the upper crust, of course, given your stature in the community."

"Stephen, I assure you I do not seek for the other team!"

"Very good, sir. Would you perchance like for me to arrange some meetings with young ladies from good families then, sir?"

"Erm…"

"I assure you it would be very discrete. I can locate some wonderful young witches for you to meet, or Muggles if you prefer."

"Right!"

"Oh, very good, sir, I shall get to work on that straight away."

"Stephen! Come back here please."

"Yes, sir?"

"Please don't do that."

"Do what, sir?"

"Arrange dates for me. If and when I get that desperate I shall let you know. It's just that…"

"Just that what, sir? Did you have a rough falling out with your last young lady, sir?"

"You could say that… mental damn redheads could drive any man crazy."

"If I may be so bold as to ask, sir, who was this you were seeing sir? I don't mean to pry, but if I knew your dating history and the with whom you had relationships which didn't work I could help you avoid similar circumstances. As well, should you at some point ask me to arrange meetings with eligible young ladies, I should know the personality traits of young ladies you have not gotten on with, as well as the ones of those you have."

"Stephen?"

"Yes, sir?"

"For the time being could we drop the whole me-dating-all-the-eligible-young-women-in-Britain thing, and get back to talking about this Vinny person?"

"Why of course, sir. I merely thought you seemed poised to allow me to assist you in meeting someone to share your life with."

"Let's leave that one alone for now. I think the only thing I want to share right now is a pint or twenty with Neville. At least he and I can talk, and not be limited to Quidditch and "bloody Slytherins" mucking up the Ministry."

"I'd heard you were close to young Mr Weasley sir. This Neville, would that be Young Mr Longbottom?"

"Yeah, Neville, he's a good man. We always did get along well."

"And your relationship with Mr Weasley is not as fulfilling these days?"

"You could say that. You could also say the man is a raving lunatic… erm… especially after what happened with Ginny."

"That would be young Ginevra, Mr Weasley's sister?"

"Afraid so, Stephen."

"Well, then, now I know of at least one young lady to avoid, and her family of course, sir. Is she good friends with any other young witches who might be, shall we say, tainted because of the failure of you relationship?"

"No, Hermione, I don't want to go out with other witches… er, Stephen. I do have a question though, Stephen."

"Of course you do, sir."

"Weren't we at some point in the recent year talking about Vinny-the-newest-dark-lord-wannabe-who-wants-to-fuck-up-my-life?"

"Yes, sir, we were indeed. Was there something else you wished to know?"

"Well now, Stephen, if you must know, I believe you went right 'round my not-so-rhetorical question of why he wants to be a dark lord! Though how we got from there to my finances, school, and my love life is beyond even Merlin's ability to ken, I'd think."

"Of course, sir. I'm sorry I didn't hear the last part of that, but as for why he decided to become a dark lord, that is rather a simple explanation. It would seem that Mr Vinny is the youngest of three sons, though he does have a younger sister. As the youngest son his father has tried to keep him out of the family "business", so to speak, and wants him to make something of himself in the legitimate world."

"It would seem a bit of a dichotomy has developed in young Mr Vinny's personality, though, because he is fully cognizant of his family's "business"' Consequently he seems conflicted sir as to how to go about becoming legitimate in the Nomag, or as you call it here Muggle, world. He was able to go on to university after completing his studies at Salem and did in fact earn an MBA from Yale, which if you didn't know, sir, is a masters of business administration He then capped that with a law degree from Harvard. Frankly I should think his father could well use all of his talents inside the "Family", but who knows the vagaries of a father's love."

"But, I digress, sir. It would seem that Mr Vinny does not wish to be a Nomag business man, nor does he wish to be an attorney, nor a rich playboy, and refuses to accept any title which smacks of legitimacy. Since his father has so far disallowed his entry into the family business, it is Miss Hermione's opinion, and frankly mine as well, that Mr Vinny has taken to being a Dark Lord to overcompensate for what he feels to be his father's rejection. And this despite that his father is reported to have told him he did not wish him in the "Family Business" so as to keep at least one member free of that taint, and therefore able to move in certain circles others of the family cannot. I believe the father had aspirations for young Mr Vinny to become a Senator, sir. He really is quite intelligent and hard working when he wishes to be."

"Shame, really… er, begging your pardon, but are you not quite feeling well, sir? You look a bit glassy-eyed and slack-jawed. May I get you a potion, sir? Perhaps I might summon Madam Pomfrey, as Miss Hermione suggested I do if something should happen to you? I understand you don't wish to be associated with Saint Mungo's, if possible, to avoid the embarrassment of the public knowing your least little business. Oh good, if you are shaking your head you must be coming back to yourself, sir."

"Stephen, is it at all, in the wildest realm of imagination, possible for you to give short answers to questions?"

"Not normally, sir, I prefer to give full and complete answers."

"I see."

"Thank you, sir, I am quite happy you understand. My last two employers, I'm afraid, were not so understanding of my proclivities."

"Well, ain't that amazin', there actually is some intelligence in the upper-crust these days. So, Stephen, I suppose we can boil our boy Vinny's problem down to feeling buggered because he's the youngest and his dad won't let him into the family business. He has therefore decided to get the old man's attention by becoming the baddest dark lord in centuries which should earn him respect from his brothers and get him back the love of his father. More or less."

"I apologize for missing the first part of that sir, but essentially your summary of Mr Vinny's personality would seem to be rather accurate. I think perhaps I should schedule a hearing exam, sir, with your permission of course, as it would take time away from my duties. I seem not to hear everything you have been saying of late, sir."

"No worries, Stephen, at times I talk to myself, as Hermione can surely tell you."

"Very good, sir, and I believe Miss Hermione did say something about that at one time. She has been a cornucopia of information, not only about the Wizarding World, but about yourself as well, sir. It has been quite helpful in learning how to cope with the newness of my situation."

"Cornucopia…"

Yes, sir."

"And you are sure Hermione is still alive?"

"Oh, quite sir, I spoke with her on the floo just a bit ago before I returned to brief you on Mr Vinny."

"Just out of curiosity, Stephen, had you and Hermione met prior to you being sent over by the agency."

"Very perceptive, sir. We had in fact met prior to that."

"So she knew you were… between positions at the time she talked me out of hiring Dobby, and hiring you instead."

"I believe that would be accurate to say, sir."

"And how are you related."

"Oh, well done, sir. I must tell Miss Hermione of your perceptiveness. She seems to be of the opinion you seldom bother to think things out for yourself, but instead rely on her to assist. We are in fact fourth cousins, once removed. We are related through her mother, in that Miss Hermione and I share my great grandparents, which are of course her great-great grandparents, since she is one generation younger than I."

"I see, kind of like your cousin's aunt's fourth cousin's fifth cousin by marriage, sort of thing."

"Erm, yes sir, sort of… like that, sir."

"Hah, I knew you were not totally unflappable. Hell, even Dumbledore couldn't remain that calm all the time."

"I'm pleased to add to your enjoyment of our conversation, sir."

"Sarcasm, Stephen?"

"Oh no, sir, merely my very dry British sense of humour."

"Do they teach that in Butler School?"

"I'm not aware of any schools which teach domestic service, sir. It is a trade only passed down through families, though there are occasionally apprentices taken on, sir."

"I was being, erm…"

"Facetious, sir?"

"Yes, facetious."

"Yes, sir. Will there be anything else, sir?"

"Yes, and this is just a suggestion, but would it be too much trouble for you to go and get The Dark Lord Vinny on the floo and ask if he might have a cell phone we could reach him on? Being raised in the Muggle world, I'm sure he has access to such things."

"Oh, t'would be no trouble at all sir. I would have suggested such, but I assumed you had eschewed all things Muggle because of your upbringing, sir. My most humble apologies."

"No worries, Stephen, we all make mistakes."

"I seldom do, sir. I'll just be off to contact Mr Vinny on the floo then, and determine if he might have a cell phone or other Muggle manner of communication."

"Thank you Stephen… I'm sure that only you, Hermione, and the dumb old dork could admit to making mistakes and make it sound impossible for you to do so at the same time."

"I'm sorry, sir, but I didn't catch that last as I was walking away."

"Nothing, Stephen, just… nothing at all."


	3. Chapter 3 Love Will Find a Way

Love Will Find A Way

by

Herman Tumbleweed

**Disclaimer:** JK Rowling and a lot of folk in the publishing and film industry own the rights to Harry Potter and all that's associated with him. If I owned this I'd have an island in the Bahamas, a private one.

**A/N:** I've wanted to write a Harry-gets-a-Muggle-girlfriend story for quite some time, but just couldn't seem to come up with the right angle to approach it from. I hope you will like what I finally came up with. And this has been hanging around on my hard drive for a long time too, so here it is in all its unfinished glory. As with all the stories in this file, it may be expanded someday…

**Chapter One: Meeting the Past**

Harry was not at all surprised, walking around Little Whinging, by the odd looks, outright stares, and rude whispering behind hands; it had been part of his life for five years, and not just here. Not that he minded very much any longer, but he got enough of staring, pointing and whispering at Hogwarts. He really could use a break from it.

Every summer, he was treated as the outcast he felt himself to be in this horribly normal area of horribly normal houses and horribly normal muggles. It still amazed him, after six years at Hogwarts, that these people had no idea—not a clue—as to just how abnormal Harry really was. If any had learned of his true abnormality they would have been more than amazed.

At that thought a small smile graced his lips, turning the ends up slightly and lending an air of friendliness to his countenance. He was, after all, a good looking young man with bright green eyes, terminally messy hair, and a lithe, athletic build. He also had no idea how young women viewed him, never had, even the ones who weren't fan-girls or had no idea who or what he was like. Therefore he was clueless that much of the pointing and whispering was not by the "usual suspects", aka gossip mongers, but rather young, and some not-so-young, women, and a few men as well (though the latter would have squicked Harry to no end). And none were whispering about what he thought, just the opposite in fact, though some were a bit cruder than others.

Oblivious as well, was the intrepid wizard, to a pair of hazel-grey eyes, framed with honey blonde hair which were currently tracking his movements. They had been doing so much of the day, and had done so many times before. He was ambling down Magnolia Road, a few blocks from Privet Dr and his 'home'. He did, after all, have to call the place 'home' for about two months, after which it would most likely be nothing to him but a bad memory if he had anything to say about it; which he did. His current destination was uncertain, but in the general direction of the business district in town. As he passed the park, he absently noted a gaggle of girls around his age sitting on the grass in the play park a ways from the entrance.

His thought went back to his trip from Hogwarts the night before which erased the smile for a short time. Unbeknownst to Harry, until he arrived in Kings Cross, his transportation was arranged for with two Ministry drivers (although one looked suspiciously like an Auror he recalled seeing once), who'd met him and taken his luggage, guiding him smoothly out of the station to a waiting car. They then chauffeured him home in a car provided by none other than the Minister of Magic himself.

Other families of students had been advised of the very early school dismissal and to pick up their children. His family was merely told the former, the day of his arrival, that he would be given a "special escort home because of his status", and approximately when to expect him. Vernon and Petunia had not been amused that the "so-called Ministry of Magic" was providing his transportation, much less by the owl delivering the message. They were, however, somewhat mollified in that the drivers and car at least looked normal, and by the fact they didn't have to drive to London to retrieve him.

Smiling again, Harry thought it had been the nicest trip he'd had between the two places in the past six years. Hedwig and he had quite enjoyed the entire cavernous backseat, just the two of them, and he'd let her out of her cage to perch on his knee. Most of the ride was spent with him telling her all about the year, since they didn't get to see much of each other at school, really. He often spoke this way to Hedwig, and she would sit and listen attentively for as long as he talked. She seemed to like the attention, at the very least, and he almost felt she understood him at times since she often cooed, growled, whistled, or barked her odd sounds at just the right times in his ramblings.

Even though the train had gotten in later than it normally would, because of the Headmaster's funeral, Harry had been told he had time for a brief visit to Diagon Alley on the way if he so desired. He'd taken advantage of the offer, picked up a heap of Galleons from his vault, and exchanged most of it for a considerable pile of Pound notes. He then made a few quick stops in the Alley for Owl treats and some books he'd found interesting in Flourish and Blotts, not to mention two cases of butterbeer from Tom at the Leaky Cauldron on his way out. Fortunately, in Harry's opinion anyway, the escort had been discreet, merely dropping him off at Four Privet Drive and carrying his luggage into the house for him. The two men had then tipped their bowlers and quietly departed.

It had been barely dark when he arrived at his relatives house last evening, owing to the fact that somehow the Ministry provided car had made the normally hour long trip in a bit over twenty minutes. Harry rather thought he'd like to have that kind of service a bit more often and wondered if he could get a car like that when he became of age in a couple of months.

Having asked the driver about that just before they got to the house, the man had said the cars were quite tightly controlled by the ministry, but that some of the more affluent and eccentric members of wizarding society did have them. The man had handed him a fairly dusty old pamphlet from the glove box before leaving, which told of the enchantments and charms provided on the cars, assorted taxes on said spellwork, and the regulations and requirements for ownership. Harry didn't see any reason he couldn't get one, provided he had as many galleons in his vault as he suspected he did. It was something to consider, and he'd decided to owl Gringotts about the amount there.

On the other hand, the whole thing had rankled him, the heavy-handed way the Minister had used the opportunity to remind Harry that he was important to the Wizarding World, and therefore to the Ministry as well. And, of course, that the benevolent, leonine Minister wanted the Chosen One "on his team". Despite having enjoyed the greatly reduced travel time (not to mention lack of angry relatives to not enjoy the ride with) he still felt the bastard was trying to manipulate him the way Dumbledore had, just not as smoothly. And he was done being manipulated by the Wizarding World and its sheeple.

Harry shook his head as he passed the end of the park and chuckled ruefully at the apparent lack of finesse in the Wizarding World, especially most of its politicians. He was sure that something comparable would be done for a young man in similar circumstances in the Muggle world, but it would have been handled much more smoothly, with people like Hermione and the Weasleys also being offered rides in Ministry vehicles for their safety, so that the attempt to curry favour with Harry would be slightly less overt. He shook his head and grinned, remembering the look of anger in the Minister's eyes yesterday when Harry reminded the older wizard he was still Dumbledore's man through and through. He was surprised, actually, that the car had still been provided, but figured the old fart just wanted to get his licks in where he could.

Dispelling his ruminations on the banalities of Wizarding government, the young wizard let his thoughts roam to more pleasant areas. First thing this morning he'd left the house in the last Dudley cast-offs he ever intended to wear and made a hasty trip to the shopping district, a mile or so away.

Arriving in a young men's store, he'd immediately gotten the assistance of a couple of nice, middle aged women, he being the only customer at the time. When he explained immediately that, contrary to popular belief in the community, he did NOT go to Saint Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys, one of the sweet ladies had winked and said she and most of the town had known that was codswallop for years. She added that they all wondered how the Dursleys got away with treating him as they did.

Grinning then at the two nice ladies he told them it was kind of complicated, but that he'd come into part of his inheritance from his parents and desperately needed clothing suitable for a teen in his last year of secondary school. They'd well accommodated his desire making suggestion after suggestion, without being pushy like Hermione was at times or overly cloying as Mrs Weasley had a tendency to be. He knew they were likely on commission but felt they'd gone out of their way to be kind to him. The two fawned over him for a couple of hours assisting him with putting together a rather nice wardrobe. Harry had greatly enjoyed the experience, and felt like he'd made a couple of new friends.

After dressing in one of his new outfits at the insistence of his store helpers (who happily binned the old stuff), he'd then taken a taxi back to Privet Drive, to the consternation of his Aunt who'd met him on the front stoop. When she started to berate him, she'd only gotten out a shrill "Boy, what…" when he'd strode up to her and whispered, "Magic, legal, two months." She'd turned white, did an about face, and marched straight back through the front door all the way to the kitchen. It was the same tactic that had worked on her and Uncle Vernon the night before when he'd told them the longer version; that in two months he'd be able to do all the magic he wanted to, legally. Surprisingly the veiled threat had gotten through to both of them immediately.

Unencumbered by his snippy Aunt, Harry and the taxi driver had carried his bags of clothing in then. After paying the man, adding a nice tip, he'd moved it all up to his room. There, he'd spent another couple of happy hours putting away his new purchases. When he was finished he sat back and looked quite satisfied with his well-spent morning, snickering to himself as he realized the double entendre in that thought. Certainly he'd reduced his pile of currency somewhat, but still had way more than he'd ever had before in his life.

There were a few other things he hoped to accomplish over the next couple of weeks while he was renewing the blood protections afforded by his mother's sacrifice all those years ago. For now, though, he just wanted to walk about the small suburb, enjoy the nice early summer day, and have lunch in town without being looked at as a ruffian. He might be a very capable young wizard in that other part of his life, but at least here he could be "just Harry" for a little while and not be worried overmuch about the things in that world. It felt good to be just another teen for a few weeks.

A thought struck Harry then, and he wondered if his Royal namesake was ever able to get out and just walk about the town like this. He suspected the poor bloke had a full brigade of Royal Marines and a few dozen others in his entourage any time he wanted to just take a stroll. It brought a full smile to his face to know that, despite all the transitory and bothersome fame in his other life, here he could be mostly anonymous and relatively carefree for a bit.

As he approached the business district once more, he decided to sample something he'd only had on a couple of rare occasions: fast food, the Muggle teenage diet staple. As he got his food and sat at an out of the way table, he noticed the small group of girls around his age who had come in behind him. Some of them seemed to be whispering, and laughing at another of them. He noticed a few casting glances in his direction, and wondered what they were on about.

Largely ignoring the laughing, giggling group, he ate slowly, savouring his meal. It was quite unlike Hogwarts food, and certainly not as good, but it was different and that was what he'd wanted. While he loved his school with all its small and great idiosyncrasies, he did like to sample the other side of his life when he could. He had decided that since he had to be here for at least a fortnight this summer, he would enjoy that as much as he possibly could. If his orderly minders didn't like it, they could go bugger themselves.

So far, he'd not heard a peep from them, so he wasn't sure if they were watching him or not this summer. He'd certainly not seen, smelled, or heard any sign of them. For all he knew, Dumbledore's do-nothing bird club was so disorganized by the old fart's death as to have fallen apart. And speaking of smelling, if he'd smelled the smoky, whisky stench of Mundungus Fletcher he'd have been sorely tempted to violate statutes and blast the thieving, lying, filth back to the gutter he crawled out from.

The part of Harry Potter that practised constant vigilance at all times, did know exactly where the group of laughing and whispering girls had sat, not far from him. Not to mention he automatically kept track of every other person who came or went from the restaurant, or even walked near it on the outside. His years of Quidditch and his way too frequent bouts of Voldieitis, as he was coming to think of the yearly battles, had honed his sense of space, time, and surroundings. He could never afford to be totally at ease, even in his home. He didn't like it, but right now it was the way his world was.

He idly watched the group of young ladies out of the corner of his eye, as they chattered, giggled and snickered away at the other table. He was, after all, a fairly normal teenage boy who definitely appreciated the opposite sex. He admired their carefree life, just being normal kids in the town where they probably had all grown up. He reckoned he might have even gone to school with most of them before he was whisked off to Hogwarts.

His mind wandering, as it had all day, mostly, he thought to himself about how he'd broken up with Ginny the day before. He had told her and himself it was to protect her, to make sure she didn't become target number one to capture, torture, rape, and hold hostage to lure Harry into some sort of trap or whatever. The truth was a bit more complicated. Harry wasn't really sure how he felt about the cute redhead. He certainly liked her, but now that he was home he had to wonder if she might have used a mild love potion or something like that on him. He'd enjoyed the time they spent together last summer, and the shock of her going off with Dean as soon as they got to the train had been a bit of a bother. The times he'd seen them snogging he now realized he'd felt jealous, but for some reason that made no sense now. And that thought started him down a path of inescapable conclusions.

First, he did not love Ginny, even if he did like her a lot. Second, she had always, before last summer, felt more like a younger sister to him. Even though he knew she was very much a girl, he just didn't see how he could have changed his mind, then changed it back, and so suddenly in both instances. His list of possible suspects broadened to include Molly, who he knew wanted him and Ginny together. Well, one thing was for sure, he had no plans to spend enough time at the Burrow this summer to allow that possible scenario to repeat. While he wasn't entirely sure a love potion had been stealthily given to him he wasn't willing to take the risk of a repeat either, he had too many other, much more important, things to do in the near future. And, he needed a very clear mind, one not clouded in the least by the effects he knew even mild love potions could induce.

The corner of his consciousness watching the goings on around him, brought his attention back to the group of girls who all eyed him frequently, but one of them kept staring at him. He liked what he saw, for sure. She was slim and blonde, with hazel-grey eyes, and seemed to be nearly as tall as he, not that he was all that tall, considering the lack of food he'd had as a young child. But Harry had grown to about five foot nine inches in the past few years, and rather hoped to put on another inch or two. He had to look up quite a bit these days to be eye to eye with his friend Ron, and that bothered him some.

From what he recalled, as the girls seated themselves earlier, this girl was about the tallest, probably five-seven or so. And she was still looking at him, so he turned and smiled at her. She blushed a bit, very prettily he noticed, but didn't look away either. Then she smiled back, a bit shyly he thought, showing nice white teeth and a very cute dimple in her right cheek. He liked what he was seeing even more than before. However, he had no idea what to do.

Harry sat there totally flummoxed. It was obvious the girl liked what she saw too, but he didn't know if he should go introduce himself, wait for her to make a move, or what. And that was ignoring the whole issue of where he went to school and the entirely different world he spent most of the year in. Finally his brain engaged a bit more fully and he thought, "_What the hell, it can't hurt to get to know someone who lives here, especially someone that cute. Who knows, maybe I can totally dispel that ugly myth the Dursleys have been spreading about me for years."_

Having finished eating, and plucking up his courage, Harry picked up his tray of food wrappers and walked to the waste bins conveniently near where the girls were seated. He smiled once more at the pretty blonde after he dumped his debris, and, still holding his drink, ambled in the general direction of their table.

He was quite aware that every girl at the table was watching him now, not to mention a number of other young people in the restaurant. But, since the crowds at Hogwarts no longer bothered him, he sure didn't worry about a few stares here. These people didn't have wands that could make him look ridiculous or seriously hurt someone in an instant. He doubted anyone was carrying any other weapons here; no one looked the part.

As he approached the table, going considerably out of his way from a straight line to the exit, he eyed all the girls, but then his green eyed gaze locked on that lovely pair of hazel-grey ones, and he smiled softly at her. She smiled back again, and as he walked slowly up beside her chair, she turned so he was facing him. He glanced once more around the table taking in some rather stunned looks from the others, but concentrated on the one he knew he wanted to know him.

Stopping in front of the girl, he looked down and simply said, smiling, "Hi, I couldn't help but notice you noticing me, my name is Harry Potter."

The girl flushed slightly, but stood, offered her hand and said, "Hi Harry Potter, I'm Alycia Bronson, it is nice to meet you again." Her smile turned sly then. At his inquiring look, he'd shaken her hand and hadn't let go yet, she smiled impishly, "Surely you remember me from school."

Harry slowly released the soft warm hand as he concentrated on the face in front of him, thinking back six years to when he'd been in primary school here. Finally, after a few moments, he was able to recognize the beauty before him from his previous school. Harry could feel his smile broaden as he finally twigged on who he was meeting again after all those years. It seemed like a lifetime ago, after all he'd been through.

That had been a simpler, much more innocent time in his life, even with the Dursleys as his keepers. He continued to smile, as he recalled that she had never bought into Dudley's bullying, nor had the circle of friends she hung out with, but they were about the only ones who didn't. He'd never gotten to know them well, but they had helped him a few times when Dudley and his gang had beaten him up.

Finally pulling himself out of his memories, he said, "It is very good to see you again Alycia, it's been way too long, judging by how we've both grown since then." He looked around the group still sitting at the table and kind of recalled some of the faces, though the names escaped him. "It is nice to see all of you again, as well," he said politely.

That of course set off a giggle fest around the table, as all the girls went into teenage mode for a few moments. He smiled at them, and at Alycia who was grinning indulgently at her friends.

"Don't mind them, Harry, they aren't accustomed to boys with manners. Humph," she continued, "for that matter, neither am I, not really." She grinned up at him then, and invited, "Why don't you sit with us for a bit?"

He bobbed his head at the slight compliment, feeling the tips of his ears heat a bit, but noticed all the chairs were full at the table. Looking behind him to an empty table, he grabbed a chair from there to pull up. The girls all shifted over, making space between Alycia and another girl with mousy brown hair, who was rather cute also. For that matter all of the girls were rather attractive, he noticed, each in her own way.

"So," said Alycia, "it did take us a while to suss out who you were, so don't be embarrassed that you don't remember our names either."

He smiled a thank you at her, and all the girls. Then each girl introduced herself, and he shook each of the other four hands as he recalled the names from long ago.

He told them, "It really is nice to meet some people again from when we were kids. And despite what… fertilizer the Dursleys may have spread about me, I have been attending a public school in Northern Scotland for the past six years." Another round of chuckles was automatic at the fertilizer comment. "It was arranged and paid for by my parents' estate." He grinned then, "Though if you prefer to think of me as the _bad boy of Little Whinging_, that's up to you." He grinned his lopsided grin, and then gave Alycia a knowing wink.

That got a big laugh from the table, as all the girls, all at once naturally, told him various versions of "We never believed that bilge, ever."

But Alycia added, "We knew you could never be like that, Harry, you were just too nice in school. Most everyone around here doesn't believe that either. Dudley and his gang are the ones who really belong in that school you were supposed to have been shipped off to."

Harry smiled appreciatively around the table, coming back to look into the lovely hazel-grey eyes he was coming to like more and more, and finally replied, "Thank you, all of you, for that. It is good to know that outside of Privet Drive, and the idiots Dud hangs out with, people don't think I'm like that."

One of the girls, Mary, spoke up, "I live on the other end of Privet, and it seems to be only the neighbours closest to the Dursleys, and the families of his gang members of course, who believe what those people dish out, Harry. Can't say why, but they all do. But those of us at the other end have seen the way those idiots treat you and Dudley, so we know the truth. By the way, nice to see you finally got yourself some clothes that fit." She grinned, though she also blushed slightly.

Harry, feeling his ears heating again, said softly, "Thanks Mary, it really is nice to have some decent clothes for a change. I was, just this summer, able to access some of the money from my parents' estate, other than for school things, so I took advantage of it and got some new duds." As he finished speaking, his eye automatically locked back on Alycia's looking for her approval. He definitely found it there. He felt badly, at least a little, that what he said was not entirely true and wished he could be completely honest with the girl beside him.

Her eyes were shining and she smiled, an almost predatory smile as she said, "And you did a very good job of it too, Harry. You look very nice, much nicer than you have in the past. That's part of why we didn't know who you were, that and we hadn't seen you in a couple of years."

He could feel his face heating even more now over the compliments to his appearance, then one of the girls had to go and say, "Aw look, he's even cuter when he blushes." The girls all giggled or laughed lightly at that.

That did it, Harry knew he was imitating a Weasley in full embarrassed mode, but there was nothing for it. Summoning up his Gryffie courage, he cleared his throat and again looked into the now dancing eyes of the girl on his left, the blonde who had definitely caught his fancy. Seeming to draw a bit of strength from the softness behind the deviltry there, he finally smiled, first at her then around the table.

"Truth is, ladies, I haven't been here much the past two summers. Last year I was only here two weeks, and the year before for only a bit over a month. I wasn't allowed away from the house very much, at those times, for reasons I'd rather not go into." He knew a dark look passed over his face at that, but went on, "So that would explain why you haven't seen me very much the past two summers. Now, it's my turn, why didn't I see you the previous summers? I was here, and though the Dursleys tried to keep me home, I did get out once in a while, if for no other reason than to run errands for Aunt Petunia."

Alycia answered, "Harry, I can't speak for all of us, but I think it was mainly that you always seemed to be in a hurry or didn't look like you wanted to be bothered. I hope that doesn't hurt your feelings, but I know that's kind of how I felt at the time. It was like we felt we should stay away from you."

As he looked around, the others all nodded agreement. "Huh," he said, then a thought came to mind. "You didn't feel that at all this time, though?"

"No," said Alycia, to be chorused by all the other girls. "Quite the opposite in fact," she went on, "we all felt like you looked kind of lonely this morning, even when you were doing your clothes shopping." She snickered at his surprised look. "Yes, Harry we spotted and followed you this morning, because even though you looked lonely, and were dressed horribly this morning, there was an aura of confidence around you. That's very rare for lads our age. When you came out of the clothing store dressed so nicely and smiling fit to burst was when we finally sussed out who you were. Hey, whenever a good looking guy shows up around here us ladies like to know who he is." She smiled impishly, "We were going to escort you home, until you grabbed a taxi." Then she pouted a little.

Harry wanted to kiss those pouting lips for a moment, but held in the urge. It wasn't easy to do, either. While his mind was racing furiously over some possibilities, he told Alycia and the others, "Well, that explains why I hardly talked to anyone the past six years. I sure never meant to project that kind of…erm, stand-offish manner I guess it could best be called. Can't say for certain why I came across that way. I may go to a nice school, but believe me when I tell you they work very hard to make sure most people there don't develop any kind of attitude like that."

Inside, though he kept smiling, Harry had twigged on exactly why that had happened, and he laid it at the feet of a certain deceased, manipulative Headmaster. He'd been thinking along those lines a lot the past few days. Looking back over his life he'd come to the conclusion that Dumbledore had exercised entirely too much control over him since his parents were killed, and over the lives of his friends. However, there was nothing to be gained by those thoughts now, especially in the company of so many attractive young women, so he put it out of his mind for the time being.

They spent over half an hour, sipping drinks, laughing and talking: first, over things from the distant past – the long ago primary school days to these young people. Next the girls had told him some funny and not so funny things that had happened at Stonewall High. Finally the girls could contain their curiosity no longer and had demanded to know about Harry's school. He'd been prepared for that, and had thought of some things he could say without arousing suspicion.

"It is called Macmillan Academy, is way north in Scotland, and has been the school the kids from my family have been sent to for many generations, apparently." The name he used was the name given to all Muggleborn family members to allow them to talk about their magical child's school. It had an address and everything, though it was just a postal drop box at a town near Hogsmeade. "Our classes are, I'm fairly sure, just like yours: history, maths, chemistry, and all that. We do have a mandatory class in garden care though, and spend a lot of time in the huge greenhouses. Personally I think that's so they don't have to hire anyone to tend the plants grown there to feed the school," he winked, and the girls laughed. "We also learn a lot about the animals that live near the castle in one of our classes, and spend a lot of time outdoors for sport when we can. One of my favourite classes is astronomy. It is mandatory for some reason, for the first five years. But I really like learning about stars and galaxies and all that."

"Wait," said one of the other girls, Jen, "did you say castle?"

"Oh," he grinned sheepishly, "I forgot to tell you the neatest part. The school is in an old castle dating back around a thousand years. It is really cool, and when we aren't in class or studying, or just get bored, sometimes my friends and I do go exploring. It's really big, and there are all kinds of unused areas we can wander around in. Sometimes it seems so huge, especially when you're eleven, that it's hard not to get lost."

Jen interrupted again, "Harry, what's the name of the castle?

Harry told the truth. It's called Hogwarts Castle and was built around the supposed time of Merlin and King Arthur."

"Harry, I don't think I recall any like that in Scotland." Jen looked perplexed, but continued, "I did a long report on Scottish castles last year, and I don't remember running across that one. I'm sure I would too, since that's such an unusual name."

Harry chuckled, while he thought fast. He smiled warmly hoping he was adequately covering his butt here, and replied, "You probably wouldn't have. It has been privately owned since it was built. The school owns it now, but they have managed to keep it off of the historic registries because they don't want people coming and bothering the students. There are students there year round. In the summer they teach special classes to graduates who are in University but who want to come back and pick up a few extra credits for Uni, at their Alma Mater. Or people who are in the work force who want to brush up on a few skills." He sincerely hoped he'd deflected Jen enough with his answers, though it didn't really look like it from her slightly furrowed brow, so he decided to try changing the subject. He hated lying to her that way.

"So, ladies," he smiled hugely at Alycia, and a bit less brightly at the rest, "What are your plans for the afternoon, and might a lonely young man be allowed to join in? Well, so long as you aren't planning on anything too girly, that is." As he'd hoped, that last comment brought on another round of laughs and giggles, and, to his mild surprise, Alycia took his hand.

"Well, Harry," the blonde said, happily it seemed, "as it so happens a couple of these fine upstanding ladies," she received some boos for that, but went on after poking her tongue out at the girls, "have to go to work shortly, and the other two have to go home soon."

Harry noticed she glared momentarily at two of the girls and had a good notion of what that meant. They were going home, or at least elsewhere, so she and Harry could be alone. He didn't mind in the least. He liked the other girls well enough, what little he knew of them, but it was Alycia he found he fancied more than a little, now he had gotten to know her a bit. He also noticed that Jen was one of the ones who pulled a face when work was mentioned.

Jen and another, Faye, got up then and said they both had an afternoon shift at the grocery, where they worked as checkout sackers. Neither seemed in a big hurry to get to work, until they looked at their watches, yelped, and beat feet for the door.

Harry and the other girls laughed at the retreating two. Mary and the last girl, Brenda, got up then. Mary told Harry, with a sidelong glance at Alycia, whom he saw smirking out the corner of his eye, "Well, we have things to do at home. We promised our mums we'd help in the gardens a bit today. They both belong to that stupid club Petunia Dursley started a couple years ago. Something about the best kept yard, or some such crap."

Harry had to hold in a guffaw and wound up coughing as he choked a little on it. He recalled all too well how Tonks had gotten rid of the Dursley's the night he was taken to Grimmauld Place two years ago. Alycia slapped his back a couple of times, but not very hard he noticed, and asked if he was alright.

Finally catching his breath a moment later, he grinned, and said. "Sorry, but that is just like Petunia to start a club so she can try to make sure she wins the prize."

The girls all laughed along with him. Then Mary and Brenda said their goodbyes, albeit less than happily, and meandered off to the door. Harry was sure neither was going home, especially to work in the garden.

He turned to Alycia and asked, "Well, it looks like it's just you and me kid," he lisped from an old movie he'd seen on the telly one time.

The girl laughed joyfully, a light tinkling sound that went straight to his heart. "Oh, Harry, when did you ever hear that. I didn't think those people ever let you watch the telly, at least not according to Dudley. He used to brag about that sort of stuff you know."

Harry smiled at the pretty girl who still hung onto his hand lightly. "Oh once in a while I managed to catch part of a movie or a programme. Most of the time they made sure I was either doing some chore while Dud watched or I was in my room. That's all past history, so I don't really care. I really don't give a rat's… er, backside, what they do now. I don't have to come back to them next year, so they can go hang for all I care."

She chuckled over his remark about the rat's anatomy, but then looked crestfallen. Harry almost slapped himself on the forehead for saying he wasn't returning next summer.

"Listen, Alycia. I don't have to live with them after this summer, because I turn 18 next year and some arrangements have been made to where I don't _have_ to come back. That doesn't mean I won't, if I have a good reason to."

Her smile could have lit the Great Hall at Hogwarts. "Well, Mr Potter," she said jauntily, "I guess I'll just have to make sure you have a reason to come back, then, won't I."

He returned her smile, although he thought it probably looked kinda goofy, but it felt good to be with his old school acquaintance, and to be getting to know her better.

Alycia and Harry ambled away from the restaurant still holding hands loosely, their arms swinging between them as they walked closely, but not too close. He still could get an occasional whiff of perfume or shampoo or whatever soap she used, he wasn't sure, just that she smelled very nice. The ladies at the men's shoppe had insisted he take a bottle of nice cologne, as a gift for his large purchase, and he'd dabbed a bit on before leaving the house. He'd noticed that in the restaurant Alycia and a couple of the other girls had leaned closer a couple of times as if to get a sniff. He reckoned those kinds of things worked both ways.

They chatted as they walked along, just getting to know one another. Then he asked her, "Is there something you'd like to do this afternoon. I've no idea what there is to do for kids our age around here any more, but we could do whatever you like."

She brightened even more, though she was rather lively already, and said, "There is a film at the cinema I want to see. Would you like to go see if it is playing at a time we could go and still get home for supper? It's just up the way here." Her smile told him he'd better say yes.

He smiled just as happily, and replied, "Of course, I'd love to. As you can guess, I've never been to the cinema, so it would be a treat."

As they walked more briskly toward the cinema, she asked, "Don't you get to go up at that school you go to?"

He laughed and told her, "No the town there is too small for one. They only let us go into town a few times a year anyway."

She grinned smugly, and said, "Well then, I'm going to be the lucky lady who gets to take you to your first film. I just need to stop and call my mum to let her know what I'm doing."

* * *

It was now past the beginning of July and Harry had spent nearly every day with Alycia. He'd been a hit with her parents when introduced to them less than a week after they met. Her older brother, Phil, even liked him, which he greatly appreciated, considering he reminded Harry somewhat of Charlie Weasley in build. The young man was a university student in his third year of the five year medical program. He'd wanted to be a doctor as long as he could remember, or so he'd told Harry. He also played on the school rugby team and was quite solid. Harry and the older student had hit it off quite well, and he was happy about that. He didn't have many male friends near his age.

As for her parents, her dad was a dentist with a local private surgery, and her mum was his office- and business manager. Harry liked talking with both of them, and although he often had to bend the truth about his _other life_, he had still managed to build a nice rapport with the easy going couple. It was a bit of a strain at times remembering all the things he'd said about the school and such, but he felt it was well worth the effort. He had a sneaking suspicion he was falling head over heels in love with their daughter.

Alycia helped out in her dad's dental office three days a week during summer holidays filing, answering phones, and helping the regular receptionist and her mum. It was on one of these days that Harry had gotten up early for his usual morning run, he was determined to be in good shape having noticed that the Wizarding world tended to avoid physical exertion in favour of using magic most of the time. While they did walk perhaps more than Muggles, they didn't do so any more than they had to.

As he ran down Alycia's street, he saw her and her parents come out of the house and walk toward the car. Her dad had given a little wave to him, spotting Harry right off, but as the women came out the house he was out of their view behind some hedges. By the time he got to their yard, Alycia and her mother had their backs to him, ready to get in the car. He put a finger to his lips, signalling her father he was about to surprise his girlfriend. The man's eyes positively twinkled as he then proceeded to drop the keys so he couldn't unlock the car just yet.

Harry slowed enough so his trainers made no noise at all as he strode across the grass. It was only one step on the drive and he had his arms around the gorgeous blonde, and stage whispered in her ear, "I've got you now, my pretty!" and gave out with a really awful cackle.

Mrs. Bronson had seen Harry at the last second, and stepped back in shock. Alycia, however, had no such luck. He swept her up into his arms from behind and swung her around. The girl gave out the most ear splitting shriek imaginable, right up until he started kissing her neck, then she wilted in his arms.

When Harry put her back on the ground, Alycia turned around and beat on his chest a couple of times while her parents laughed. She said, "Harry! That was mean!" Then she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him for all she was worth, her body moulding to his. He was a bit surprised, since they'd never kissed like that in front of her parents before. He did manage to hold her tightly to him and return it in kind, though.

After she released him, she demanded, "Harry James Potter, is that any way to say good morning to your girlfriend?" That naturally got her parents to laughing again.

He replied, "Well, it did get you to kiss me, so… yeah, I'd say that worked." He wiggled his eyebrows at her and at her dad. The man was cracking up for all he was worth, not to mention her mum.

Alycia huffed in mock annoyance, then drew him in for another brief kiss, holding him with her hands bunched in the front of his shirt. When the kiss broke, he smiled softly at her and murmured, "Good morning, Alycia." His arms were loosely around her back, still holding her, as she pressed against him.

She smiled warmly back, "Good morning, my dear Harry; having a good run?"

Lightly he said, "The run's good, but right now is better," and leaned in to peck her on the lips again.

She smiled brightly at him, the light in her eyes shining as brightly as he'd seen yet. While the two had been bantering and kissing, her parents had gotten in the car, still chuckling, so Harry opened her door and helped her into the car. Mrs. Bronson rolled her window down to tell Harry, "Alycia should be done by about two-thirty this afternoon; why don't you come by the surgery and meet up with her." She smiled warmly at the young man, and Harry returned it in kind. He was quite fond of all the Bronsons.

"Sounds like a good plan to me," he replied, grinning at his lovely blonde girlfriend.

Mrs. Bronson then added, "And Harry, can we expect you for dinner tonight?"

He smiled widely, she frequently invited him, but it always made him feel special. "I'd love to Mrs. Bronson; that would be brilliant. By then Alycia had her window down as well, and he stuck his head in for another quick kiss.

Her dad said, "Alright, you two, save it for later. At this rate my patients will be there before we are." He laughed, as did his wife, at the blushes of the two teens.

Harry started to say, "Sorry, sir, I…" but he was cut off.

"Harry," Mr Bronson said seriously, "Did you not hear me laugh. I was making a joke, son. Lighten up a bit, okay?"

Harry felt his face heat a bit more as he looked at the friendly man and replied, "Yes, sir. Just old habits from the people two streets over."

The man growled his response, though Harry knew by now it was not in any way directed at him. They'd talked about the Dursleys several times and the man was thoroughly disgusted by how they had treated Harry, although in truth he knew only the surface of what had gone on there. Harry didn't figure this wonderful family needed to be burdened with full disclosure on that topic.

Smiling again at his lovely Alycia, Harry said in their shorthand way, "Swimming today?"

"Yep, she replied, "your suit's still here, so just bring you."

"See you then, Aly. I'll miss ya today."

Her eyes turned soft and a little moist then as she said quietly, "Me too, Harry. See ya later," and blew him a kiss. Harry didn't know it yet, but he had just sealed his fate with the young woman whom he'd literally swept off her feet a few minutes before.

Her dad started the car then, and Harry stood in the drive watching them back out and drive off toward the town centre. He truly would miss her today, as he did every day he wasn't with her. That feeling he'd thought about earlier came back, full force. He didn't even have to think about it now, he knew he was in love with the sweet, gentle, beautiful girl he'd really only known a month.

In the Bronson's car Alycia sighed softly, while her parents gave each other knowing looks. Her mum asked, "Aly, dear, would you come in my office when we get there? I think we should have a bit of a chat."

Alycia smiled at her mum, not at all concerned. Freedom of expression and of information was the unofficial motto of the Bronson household. Although she knew her mum wanted to talk about Harry, she knew it would be a good talk.

Her dad asked, after he pulled away from the stop sign at the end of the street, turning onto Magnolia Road, "Honey, are you in love with Harry?"

She thought for a moment, then replied in a firm voice, "Yes Daddy, I really, really am. I didn't know it until this morning, but there is no doubt now."

Surprisingly Carl Bronson, DDS didn't say anything else for a moment, then he smiled over his shoulder and said, "That is very good, love, because if there is one thing an older man can spot, it is a young man in love. Honey, Harry has it bad for you. He is so in love with you it hurts. Am I right, dear?" he asked his wife.

"Yes, dear, very perceptive. That was precisely what I wanted to talk with Alycia about when we get to work."

Being a wise man, who'd been married for a number of years, Carl knew when to back off. "In that case, love, I leave the rest of this discussion in your oh so capable hands." He grinned at his wife, who swatted his arm playfully. He then added, "Aly, just so you know for sure, I approve with all my heart, love." That remark earned him bright and slightly damp smiles from both of the two most important women in his life, and a hug of his left arm from his wife.

The few more minutes it took to get to her dad's office, Aly was lost in thought. She had been totally honest with her parents about Harry. She definitely was absolutely head over heels in love with the man. She would do anything for him, and was honest enough with herself to admit, in her head at least, she'd had numerous fantasies involving a certain green eyed, messy haired man for the past month. Even now, just thinking about him her nipples and crotch tightened. While she knew that was largely hormonally driven, she also knew she wanted him because of how much she loved him. When they were apart, which was way too much, she ached for his arms, his gentle voice, his soft touches, and warm kisses.

She remembered their first kiss; it might not have been the most romantic, but it would live in her memory forever. She then thought about a lot of other things to do with the strange and dynamic Mr Harry Potter. He was strange, in that she knew he wasn't telling her something big, but he was such a vibrantly alive and wonderful guy. She knew she could not live without him, or at least wouldn't want to.

Aly came out of her reverie when her dad pulled the car into the car park behind the surgery. Inside, her mum and dad kissed in the hallway, as they did each morning, and each headed to their own office, near one another, but not too close. Aly got her usual warm hug and a kiss on top of the head from her dad. Her parents had found, years ago, that they worked best together as independently from each other as possible, only getting together on business when they needed to. Each had their job and each did it so well that they had a very successful business.

She followed her mum, and helped with the early morning routine of making coffee, filling the ever-hot tea water container, checking the mail, and all the little things it took to keep an office running efficiently. She made sure that the desk supplies had been filled the day before at the reception counter, which they had, and then met her mum in her office for their chat. They had about half an hour before the rest of the staff showed up.

Her mum only asked one question, "Ally, are you absolutely sure?" then let her talk.

"Oh, mum. I hardly know how to talk about this. I know we've only been going out for a month, but remember we did know each other in primary for several years. Harry is the sweetest, kindest, and I hate to say it, but I think, the fiercest man I've ever known. There is a part of himself he keeps locked up. It doesn't feel evil or anything like that, it just seems to make him sad. It's like a big secret he can't tell. I've never pushed him on it, but I hope one day he'll tell me. He did tell me one thing, when I was teaching him to swim, it was the first time we kissed, actually..." and she related that story, leaving out some of the more intimate details.

--------------

_It was about five days after they started going out and they'd been together every day, except the mornings she'd had to work. The day after he met her parents, with their permission, she invited him over to swim. They had a modest sized pool which was covered for use during the winter, but now the covering structure was pulled back as a shade over the deck and the pool open to the air. He'd said he didn't know how to swim, but she had countered that she'd teach him. He'd said he had no suit; she marched him uptown to buy one._

_After she finally got him into the pool and began teaching him the basics, which he picked up very quickly, they had been goofing a bit and bumped into one another. He'd grabbed her in his arms to keep them from falling, and suddenly they found their faces inches apart. For the longest time he just stared into her eyes, and she his. After what seemed like an eternity to her, she leaned her head slightly to one side and licked her lips, staring at his. He got the message apparently, because he lowered his head those last few inches and their lips came together._

_There were no skyrockets, per se, but her blood pressure certainly went up. Her nipples hardened, and as she helped him deepen the kiss, she felt him firming against her. When he tried to pull back, she'd stopped him, holding his whole body close to hers. They had stood like that kissing, snogging really, for a long time, occasionally coming up for air. _

_The first time their lips parted, they both said, "Wow", chuckled a little and went back to kissing. When they finally had their fill, more or less, he pulled her even closer to him, if that was possible, burying his face in her wet hair._

_She'd asked, "You okay, Harry?"_

_His chuckling reply was, "Never better, Alycia."_

_"Harry, I just want you to know, I've dated a few guys, and only had a couple of boyfriends before, but they only lasted a few weeks each. We kissed a few times, but never, ever, anything like __that__. Oh, Harry, that was the most wonderful thing ever to happen to me." She knew she was gushing and didn't care._

_He snickered, and told her, "My first kiss was from a girl crying over her dead boyfriend. We used to call her the human hosepipe for a while. I was there when he died, and I guess she thought I could be a connection back to him or something; still not sure on that one._

_Then this spring I had a girlfriend for a few weeks. We hung out a lot, had an occasional snog session. But I broke up with her just before school let out. Something just never quite felt right about that, to tell the truth. I think now I understand. It was almost like it was forced, like we wanted to be together, but it just was wrong for us. Now, kissing you, I know it was wrong because it never felt anything like this, Alycia. It couldn't hold a candle to how I feel holding you, kissing you, and truthfully just being with you. I hope that all makes sense. I'm not so good at the talking-about-feelings stuff."_

_She giggled against his shoulder, where her face was pressed into it, and told her new boyfriend, "What you said was just perfect, Harry; thank you for telling me all that. What happened to the boy who was killed?"_

_She noticed he stiffened in her arms and then it took him a few moments to answer, but she waited patiently. When he spoke it was in a low, almost strangled voice. "We were in a tournament together, and he and I won. We would have been co-champions. But there was this really bad guy who was always causing problems for the school. He's kind of a terrorist, and he somehow caused a big fight right then. It was away from the school, and then Cedric was killed right next to me. I escaped and brought his body back to his family, but it hurt me a lot for a long time. I'm okay now, but I still have nightmares about it once in a while."_

_Aly did not know what to say. She'd never known anyone who was right there when someone died, let alone had to fight his way free to return the body. She was impressed, frightened, and more than a little aroused. Not that she was into violence, just that she now knew the gentle man she was holding so tightly was a fighter who did the right things. She didn't say anything for a long time, and he remained silent as well. She just held him tighter to her and let him make the next move._

_After a few minutes, Harry tried to pull away from her but she refused to let go. When he stopped struggling, she looked up at him and then stood on her toes to kiss him gently, but firmly. As the kiss ended, she told him, "Harry, that has to be the saddest story I ever heard, but I'm glad you told me because it helps me to know you a little better. And besides that__, it tells me what a good man you are. How many would bring their friend out of a fight like that? That was amazing, Harry."_

_He chuckled a little, "It was damn scary, is what it was. I think I had to change my pants three times that day."_

_If he'd done that to lighten the mood it worked, because she started giggling against his shoulder then. After that they kissed once more, then went back to the swimming lessons. By the end of the afternoon he was quite the adequate swimmer; kisses as rewards for doing well are a great motivator, Harry discovered._

--------------

"Mum, it was perfect. And every time we've kissed since it has felt the same. He's so shy, I was really surprised he kissed me like that in front of you this morning. I think he feels very comfortable around you, dad, and Phil. It, I don't know, but it seems like as if he's only ever been around people who are like us just a little. He talked one time about spending part of the past few summers with some friends who have a large family. They sound like really nice people, but other than that it has been the Dursleys and boarding school."

"Even though I know he'll be going off to school in September, I just can't not love him. I know those nine or ten months apart is going to he hard, and painful, but it seems worth it if he comes back next summer. Who knows, maybe he'll decide to go to Uni where I want to, so we can be together. I'll try to get him to, if I can."

"Mum, I know we are young, but I also know how I feel. This is it. This is the real, honest to God, smack-you-in-the face love I hear you talk about."

Patty Bronson sat back and looked solemnly at her daughter, but knew there was a smile in her eyes. She couldn't help it; she knew precisely how Alycia felt. She said, "Ah, honey, you don't have to convince me. I can see it in your eyes, in the way you look at Harry. Yes, he seems to be the one. And I for one can't think of a better choice. Even more than that, I can't, for the life of me, figure out how he grew up to be such a fine young man with that pack of animals he lives with. But, it sure shows strength of character. Dad and I were talking about him a bit last night, and he said much the same thing. We both agree he is a very good man for our lovely daughter. All we have to do now is get him to come out of that shell of his some, so we can get to know the rest of him. One last thing, hon, do you mind if I talk to Harry for a few minutes this afternoon when he comes to get you?"

Aly was thoughtful for a moment, then asked, "What about, Mum."

"Mostly I want to make sure he knows what he's getting into with this family. But I suspect he's not been around many women or girls that he could ask certain questions of. I'd like to offer him that chance."

Aly smiled happily at her mum. She'd said everything she had hoped to hear. "Mum, I can't tell you how happy you and Dad have made me this morning. I think it's brilliant, that you would do that for him. You two are the greatest. You like my boyfriend, you approve of our love… what can I say? Thanks, Mum." She got up and threw her arms around the woman and they both had a happy cry for a minute or two.

When she regained her composure, Aly said, "I owe Dad a hug like that at lunchtime." She grinned at her mum, then asked, "Okay, what do you need me to do today."

The staff came trickling in shortly after that, the office went to work, and the two were all business for the rest of the morning. At lunch time her dad did get a huge hug and thank you kiss on the cheek. He returned both with delight.

* * *

Meanwhile Harry finished his run, stopping by to visit old Mrs. Figg for a bit. He estimated he was up to almost five miles each morning now, and was pleased with the progress. Phil had suggested some exercises he could do which would help build muscle too, and he'd noticed some improvement in his arms, chest, and legs as a result of it all.

Mrs. Figg was as batty as ever, but now that he knew she was a Squib, they had much more to talk about. He never did ask her if he had minders this summer, figuring it didn't really matter. He was fairly sure he didn't. He had tea with her and she caught him up on some of the news in the Wizarding world. He'd always liked the old woman, and cared even more now that he knew what they had in common.

Harry sat quietly for a few minutes thinking over something he wanted to ask her "Mrs. Figg, you were married a long time weren't you?"

"Yes, Harry, I had sixty-seven good years with my Franklin. He was a very good man. You kind of remind me of him in that way."

Harry smiled his thanks for the compliment of being compared favourably to her late husband. Then he asked, "Was he a Squib too, or a Muggle."

"He was a Muggle through and through, Harry. He got a kick out of our magical friends and some of the things they thought about Muggles, but he always gently and patiently set them straight. I used to love to sit and tell him stories about growing up in a magical household, and he loved those stories as much as I did. We had a good life together, he was an auto mechanic, you know. I helped our income by brewing potions for Hogwarts and a few of the apothecaries in Diagon Alley. He left me pretty well set up, but I still like to have that little bit of income to keep me going and not use up all he left me."

Harry smiled warmly at his old friend's reminiscing. He liked to hear her stories, now she could tell the real ones. It made him feel closer to her, almost like she was his grandmother, in a way. She'd always tried to make him feel special, and he did not blame her in the least for the Headmaster allowing him to be abused on Privet Drive. She told him once that she had begged and pleaded with the master manipulator several times to remove him from there. But, of course, the old man had refused, so she'd done what she could for Harry, little though it was.

When she finally wound down from talking about Franklin and their life together, he asked, "Did he know about the magical world when you met him, or did you have to introduce him to it?"

She laughed at the memory, "Oh I had to introduce him to it, a few months after we started going out. I already knew he was the one, so there was never any doubt. He was such a kind and gentle man I knew he'd be alright with it. I got Min's older sister, she'd just finished Hogwarts, to come and help me explain it to him. He was absolutely amazed and asked all kinds of questions. She showed him a few things, like changing the table into a pig and back, stuff like that. He was like a kid, that day." She laughed warmly at the memory. "He asked me to marry him a week later."

Harry laughed too, at the image of the man he'd seen so many pictures of acting child-like over learning there really is magic in the world. Of course, seventy or eighty years ago neither of them had a megalomaniac dark lord out to kill them, either. Harry wished his life could be that simple.

Mrs. Figg looked kindly at him, "You're in love, Harry, I can see it in your eyes. Is she a muggle girl?"

Harry couldn't help but smile, "Yes, she is. Her name's Alycia, and her Father is Mr. Bronson, the Dentist. She's beautiful and sweet and warm and funny and exciting, and for some reason I don't understand, she loves me to pieces, I think. I… I'm pretty sure… no, I am sure I love her too. We haven't told each other that, but I want to this afternoon. After that, before it can go anywhere else, I want her to know what all she's getting into.

He thought for a moment about what to say next. Mrs. Figg seemed to know to let him do this in his own time. Finally, he looked at her and said, sadly, "But I'm scared; you know? What if it scares her off, what if her parents won't let her see me anymore, what if her brother decides I'm not such a good bloke after all. I just love her so much it hurts, Mrs. Figg. I don't want to lose her, but I can't keep lying to them either. They have to know who and what I am, or it leaves this big wall between us. I know she feels it, I can see when she knows I'm hiding something. Oh, sweet Merlin, how can I tell her?"

He almost broke down and cried then, until Mrs. Figg laid a hand on his shoulder. She said, "Harry I wasn't much older than you, barely eighteen when I met my Franklin. Just like you I was scared out of my wits to tell him about the other part of my life. But I also knew that if he truly loved me he would understand."

Why don't you bring your young lady by this afternoon so I can meet her, Harry? I'll be able to tell you then if it's real. I'm almost sure it is. I've seen you with her, y'know, and she seems quite taken with you."

Harry was able to smile at that. "Yes, she sure likes being with me, that's for sure. We've been together, at least for a little while almost every day since we met. On the days she works at the surgery they usually invite me to dinner. In fact I'm having dinner with them tonight. But, yeah, I'll bring her 'round this afternoon. I know you'll like her and I think she'll like you too.

That's good, Harry," she said warmly. "Would you like to stay for lunch?"

"No thanks, Mrs. Figg. I need to go take a shower and get ready to meet Aly. I'll grab a burger or something on my way to see her later.

As he made his way home, Harry's steps were a bit lighter, but his thoughts were still running wild. He needed to introduce her to Mrs. Figg, he knew today was the day to tell her how he felt, and he truly hoped she felt the same way he did. He knew in his heart that she did, but his mind, the Dursley trained part, still doubted he was really worth loving. It drove him crazy, these conflicting thoughts. Naturally he never realized that the lady he was obsessing over was having similar thoughts, and that nearly everyone went through this at the beginning of a relationship.

After his shower, and dressing, Harry had a thought about what he could do to ease his love into learning about magic. Pulling out paper and pen, since he was writing to his Muggleborn friend, he wrote a letter he'd wanted to send for a couple of weeks.

_Dear Hermione,_

_I hope your summer is going well still. Mine is still great, though I'm not sure where I'll go after my birthday. If the Order is still watching me, they have some very good people doing so, 'cause I have not seen or heard anything of them._

_The reason I'm writing to you is that I have some very good news, at least I think it is. I hope you will too. I met someone the day after I got home. Actually I re-met her, since we were classmates in primary. We spend nearly every day together and have gotten very close. Ironically, her dad is a dentist, so your folks pr__obably know him. His name is Carl Bronson, and he has a surgery here in Little Whinging. His wife, Patty, manages his office and the business end of things. Aly's brother, Phil, is a med student at the Uni. He's really cool. Kinda reminds me of Charlie Weasley, without the red hair._

_The girl I've fallen arse over teakettle for is Alycia Bronson. She's about your height, has long blonde hair, gorgeous hazel-grey eyes, and as great a figure as yours. Ha! You didn't think I ever noticed those things, did you? I may be like your brother, Hermione, but I still know you are a wonderful, beautiful woman._

_I do hope that if you and Ron ever get together he learns to treat you right. If he doesn't, he will have me to answer to, just like he protects Ginny. Only I'm badder than he is. (smirk)_

_Ok, 'nuff of that. Alycia is just perfect, Hermione, and I just know that she loves me as much as I do her. We haven't told each other that, yet, but I'm going to tell her how I feel this afternoon. I sure hope she feels that way too. Cross your fingers for me._

_She's working with her parents until two this afternoon, probably about the time Hedwig will get this letter to you. I talked to Mrs. Figg this morning about how to tell Aly about the magical world, if it looks like things are going to get very serious. Believe me, I really want them to. I just can't say how much she means to me, and how much I just can't stand to be away from her. It hurts sometimes, just thinking about her. Anyway, the reason I mention all this is that before I go back to school, or whatever we decide to do from here on __about what the Headmaster left for me to do, I want to tell Aly. When I do, I'd very much appreciate it if you would help me. Mrs. Figg said that when she told her husband (a few months after they met) she got a magical person to help because she, of course, can't do magic herself. She is one great potion maker though; makes me wish she'd been teaching potions all these years._

_So, my dear friend and adopted sister, what do you think? Should I go for the gold here with Alycia, and will you help me introduce her and her family to magic and the Wizarding world__? They all will have to know, otherwise she and I would have a very hard time explaining a lot of things to them. I'm sure you know what I mean about that. The main reason I'm asking you, is that I will very likely be telling her before my birthday, perhaps as early as this week. So, if you are going to be at home until then, perhaps you could come to Mrs. Figg's and help me. You know I can't tell you how much it would mean to me if you would._

_On a similar note, one thing I've realized this summer is how much you have always meant to me. Yes, Ron fits in there too, but that's a whole different thing. Hermione, you are the one person at Hogwarts who has always stood by me, even if we did disagree on things at times. I think you have been a better friend to me than I have been to you at times. A certain broom delivery comes to mind. I cannot tell you what your friendship has meant to me, and now that I realize it, I will do my best to be a better friend to you as well._

_Let me know what your schedule is for the rest of the summer. I won't be able to stay here with the Dursley's after my birthday, don't want to anyway, so I may rent a room or something nearby so I can stay near Alycia until school starts. I guess those are plans to think about in a few days. Obviously I need to know how she reacts to me being a wizard first._

_I hope this finds you and your family well, and that you are having a very good holiday with them._

_Your friend and brother(?),_

_Harry_

_

* * *

_

At about fifteen before two, Harry stepped in through the doors of Bronson's Dentistry and walked toward the reception desk. There were only two people waiting, a woman and a boy who looked to be about ten. He smiled at them as he passed and then at Joanne, the receptionist. The middle aged, attractive, and, Harry knew, very efficient receptionist smile widely at him.

"Well, hello handsome, what ever would bring you 'round here today?"

Harry laughed, she was always teasing him and Aly about their relationship. It was all in fun, so he didn't mind a bit. He teased back, "Why, Mrs. Fillmore I came to whisk you away from all this and take you to my castle."

About that time a pretty head of blonde hair poked out from behind a screen and said, "Down, girl. No poaching on my boyfriend. That one's mine, and besides, you have your own at home anyway."

They all three laughed and he heard a slight snicker from the lady in the waiting room. He turned his head and grinned at her for a moment. He also heard a laugh coming from Mrs. Bronson's office, which was just behind reception a short ways.

His girlfriend's mum came out of her office and eyed him for a moment. Smiling, she said in a mock stern voice, "Would you come to my office, young man. We need to have a talk about your behaviour this morning." Then she smirked at him and he knew she just wanted to talk. She did that once in a while, inviting him into her office so they could just talk. He liked it.

Harry was a bit surprised, though, when she closed the door behind him. She'd never done so before. But when she sat in a chair next to him, rather than behind her desk, and smiled, he knew it was going to be just a nice motherly kind of chat.

"Relax, Harry. It isn't one of _those_ kinds of talks. I'll leave the threats of bodily harm to the men in the family." Then she smiled more fully and chuckled, so he knew she was joking him. "Love," she said softly, "it is just that I know you and Alycia are getting very, very close and I just wanted to know if you had any questions a woman might answer better than a man could."

Harry was actually rather stunned for a moment. He thought hard, then asked, "Mrs Bronson, do you think I could talk about some things with Mr Bronson or, oh, that would be horrible," he gasped, "or, er, maybe some other man you know?"

She smiled knowingly, "Harry, if you want to talk about what I think you want to, then I'm sure Carl would. As you say, that might not be best, so I know a doctor who owes me a favour. Let me ask you though, and I don't mean to embarrass you with this, but did anyone ever actually give you _the talk_?"

Harry felt himself flush a bit. But he liked this woman a lot, and knew she was only asking in a caring way, and that she was looking out for her daughter. He suspected she was kind of looking out for him too.

He looked up into her soft hazel-grey eyes, so much like Aly's, and smiled a bit self-consciously. "Well, we had the introduction, in primary school, and my godfather tried to cover the topic, but he was extremely nervous, probably more so than I was." He laughed at the memory."

"Thank you for your honesty, Harry. I'm sure my friend, Dr Weir, or Carl if need be, would be glad to help you out. It is never easy for two people to talk about those things, but Carl did very well with Phillip so I'm sure he could answer your questions for you if Dr Weir cannot for some reason. You are right, though, it would be very awkward for the two of you. Is there anything like that you'd like to hear from a woman's perspective?"

Harry thought hard for a little while, not sure what he could or should ask, but one thing did come to mind. "I want you to know, that I really love Aly. So what I need to know is: how do I tell her that, I mean without blowing it?"

"Ah, Harry, you are such a sweet young man. I would suggest that you take her home this afternoon and sit down and tell her, the same as you just did me. Just say that you want her to know what you feel. I can guarantee it will not fall on deaf ears, dear."

Harry smiled broadly. "Thanks, Mrs Bronson that helps a lot. I want her to meet my old minder today too. That's Mrs Figg. I know everyone thinks she's really batty, but she is just about the closest thing I have to a grandmother, and I really love her too. She's always been so nice to me, and we've gotten pretty close the last few summers."

"If she is so special to you, I'm sure Aly will find her that way as well. I've talked with Mrs Figg and she seems to me to be batty like a fox, to borrow a phrase."

Harry laughed, "Yep, that would just about describe her alright." He let his thoughts drift again for a moment, then asked something that occurred to him. "Does Aly like jewellery? I'd like to get her something soon, that's kinda special between us. Do you think she'd wear it?"

Patty smiled at the shy young man, who'd not only captured her daughter's heart, but was rapidly worming his way deeply into the hearts of the rest of the family as well. "Harry, I would suggest you get her a nice simple necklace, maybe a chain of some sort. Or you could get her a friendship ring, even. You two are going to be very close for some time, I suspect, so you do what feels right to you. I can assure you, that whatever you get her, she will love it, because it is from you."

He smiled happily back at her. "Thanks, that's just what I needed to know."

He sank into his thoughts again and she just sat back and watched him. He was such an enigma. At times he was just another confused teen, trying to find his way in the world, and at others he seemed exude a strong sense of self usually only found in people two or three times his age. It showed in his eyes at times as well, a deep sadness and an almost haunted look. He looked much older at those times. She wondered just what in his life, besides the Dursleys, could possibly have aged this kind soul so far beyond his years.

The story Alycia had related that morning was touching to Patty, but her daughter was right: there was a deep sadness and much more to this young man than met the eye. He might look for all the world like your average teen, but he was far from that. She could sense it, like a coiled snake waiting to strike. He seemed to hold in a power which could, in her mind at least, be a force of great change. She'd have to get Carl's take on that if she could get the two of them alone soon. She so loved a riddle, and if ever there was one Harry Potter fit the bill.

After nearly a minute, he asked, "Do you think your friend… or Mr Bronson would be willing to have that talk with me soon. I hope you know I'd never do anything to hurt Aly; I just want to make sure I treat her properly. Erm, in fact I think you are absolutely right, that would be very weird for both Dr Bronson and me." He chuckled a little, slightly embarrassed.

She laughed lightly, "I'll call Dr Weir and ask him when he could meet with you, and I'm sure he will. We'll just keep Carl as a back up plan. I'll mention it to him so he can be prepared to be very uncomfortable should that be the way we have to go. I believe the two of you could work around that, but like I said, backup plan."

He smiled shyly again, something she found very endearing, and replied, "That would be brilliant, Mrs Bronson. I'd appreciate being able to talk to someone like that. Thanks." He smiled more fully now, those expressive green eyes filling with happiness and something else; appreciation? Respect? It seemed like all of that and more. One more part of the puzzle to solve, she expected. It was like the young man rarely had anyone he could look up to who was consistent. Patty had no way of knowing, at that point, just how true that was.

Aly tried to keep herself busy, she did have a couple of little things to finish up before leaving, but her hands, automatically it seemed, took care of those. She wondered what they were talking about in there. She trusted her mum, and she trusted her Harry, but it still made her nervous. She wondered, _"Hmm, when did I start thinking of him as mine?" _She liked thinking of him that way though, and smiled broadly when the two came out a bit after two, smiling and chuckling.

He caught her eyes, and the look he gave her almost made her heart stop. If she ever doubted he was in love with her, it was put firmly to rest in that moment.

"Well, Mum," she teased, "are you done abusing my boyfriend so I can take him home and make him feel better now?"

Her mum laughed, as did Harry. He told her, "Not to worry, Aly, we just had a nice talk, like we often do, and I'm all yours now." He stepped up to her and gave her a small kiss and a big hug. She was a happy girl.

They said their goodbyes to her mum and Joanne, smiling at Mrs Wiltshire, still waiting with her son Brian. The woman beamed at them, and winked at Aly in that knowing way older women have of communicating with younger women. She beamed back at the lady, message understood.

As they left the clinic, walking hand in had through the business district, Harry asked, "Would you like to meet an old friend of mine? She was my minder when I was a kid, and you probably know her, at least a little bit, already."

"Who's that Harry?"

"Mrs Figg, and to quote your mum, she's batty like a fox." He laughed as she took that in.

Aly laughed along with him; the comment sounded just like her mum. She told him, "We might as well, since it's right on the way home. I'd love to get to know her if you think so much of her that you want to introduce us."

"Good then; I know you'll like her once you get to know her better, and I know she'll love you." He smiled in a way that melted her heart.

She wanted to tell him so badly, she was about to burst. She wanted to get them home so they could talk. This was something that couldn't wait another day. However, when he'd asked her to meet Mrs Figg, it had sounded so important to him, she couldn't deny him. She thought that for Harry this was as close as he'd ever get to introducing her to family. So, they made their way to Wisteria Walk, and up to the house with at least two cats seeming to stand guard in the front garden. Harry said hello to them and called each by name, seeming quite familiar with them.

An hour later they made their way from Mrs Figg's to her house, a few streets over, walking rather slowly. She was lost in thought over the visit with the very nice old lady who was just as Harry had told her, not so batty after all. One thing was for sure, the two women had one very large thing in common: their love for the handsome, green eyed young man walking next to her holding her hand firmly, almost possessively.

She had the impression Mrs. Figg had judged her, in a way, to make sure she was good enough for Harry. The woman's parting hug and kiss on her cheek told her she had not been found wanting. But, Aly had the distinct impression there was a lot more to the telling there. Just like the way Harry seemed to be holding something back, she got the definite feeling Mrs. Figg was hiding something as well. The odd thing, in her mind, was that she was almost positive the two things were related, if not the same. It was like the two were hiding the same secret. What did the sweet old lady know about her Harry that she didn't; what could be so big that the two of them were keeping it from her?

It had come as a shock to Aly when she realized, despite that she was madly in love with him, how little about his life Harry had actually told her. It had taken a couple of weeks before he'd tell her about his parents, and why he lived with his "relatives", as he called them. It had been the day after their first kiss, in fact, and he'd told her how they'd died in the car crash that gave him the scar on his forehead, the very sexy scar she loved.

When she asked about his school, he only spoke in general terms about it, rarely giving any specifics. He also seemed reluctant to tell her about his friends. He had told her about Ron and Hermione, his best friends who he was sure were going to be a couple soon. In a very reassuring voice he'd told her the other girl was an only child, and since he didn't have a sister and she had no brother they had, over the years, become that for each other.

Aly knew she'd find out the rest in time, she trusted him that much. But it was still a bit unnerving to have what felt like a huge thing keeping them apart, from ever becoming how she wanted them to be. Until it was resolved that elephant would always be there with them, tacitly ignored. She just hoped the resolution came soon.

She could also feel a tenseness in Harry now, like he was worried about something. Deep in her heart, she dearly hoped it was what she was also nervous about. When they got to her house they were going to talk, Aly had already decided, and she hoped fervently that he really did feel the way she did. Despite the assurance from her parents and the looks he gave her, she was still scared he didn't.

It was only a short walk from Mrs Figg's, and Aly absently unlocked the door of the home she'd lived in her whole life, leading him inside by the hand. She turned and smiled, as he closed the door, hoping for a long kiss. She wasn't disappointed. He immediately took her in his arms, and pulled her tightly to him pressing his lips to hers blisteringly, an activity they both loved and which went on for quite some time.

She was becoming aroused by it, and could feel, through his trousers, he was too. He'd stopped pulling away from her when that happened, and she was very glad. She had no plans to make love with him very soon, she didn't think they were quite ready for that, but still liked the vicariousness of feeling his arousal from their intimacy. In an odd way it made her feel powerful that she could cause that in the man she felt so much for.

When the kiss ended, a small eternity later, they still held each other for a long time. Finally she pulled away and led him to the lounge, pushed him into a chair, and happily plunked herself across his lap, their arms automatically going around each other. She grinned impishly at him, and asked, "So, my handsome boyfriend," she often called him that and he seemed to like it, "is there something you want to tell me."

His eyes were soft, his look as tender and sweet as she'd ever seen. This was the moment, she just knew it.

"As a matter of fact, my gorgeous girlfriend," he said in a voice as soft as his look, "there is something I want to tell you. I've been thinking about you, about us, a lot lately and about how I feel. Just this morning, it became painfully clear that I could never live without you, Aly. I don't know how else to say it but that I love you Alycia Marie Bronson, I love you with all my heart, and I always will."

For Harry Potter, that was a long speech, she knew. And it literally took her breath away as tears came unbidden to her eyes, the sweet tears of extreme happiness. She threw herself fully against him then for a long snog. Clinging to him like a limpet to a rock. He held her just as tightly.

A couple of minutes passed and she pulled back, tried to speak, and had to clear her choked up throat a couple times to get it to work. "Oh, Harry, that is what I had hoped you wanted to tell me, because I love you just as much. I love you Harry James Potter, and I know I always will too."

A part of her mind noted, that the ever present firmness in his crotch which she felt every time they sat like this was hard as a rock, and she wished she could help him with it. That had to be painful, she knew the restraint of her bra was making her nipples hurt.

_"Arrrgh,"_ she thought, as she attacked his lips again, _"who made up these stupid rules for how a relationship should go."_ She wanted to rip off both their clothes right then and take him inside her. She knew she wouldn't but also knew it wouldn't take much for her to lead him up to her bedroom. And then his hand brushed gently across one of her nipples, as she ran her fingers through his hair, and along his face, down his chest, and back up again. She was getting a might confused with all the feelings rushing through her mind, her heart, and her erogenous zones. And right now, she seemed to be one huge erogenous zone. Everywhere he touched, and kissed, as he trailed small kisses down her neck and across the top of her chest, it felt like he was leaving a trail of fire. His hand cupping her right breast was making her ache to get rid of her bra, to pull that hand inside her blouse.

She pulled up the bottom of his tee shirt and slipped one hand up under it, while the other was playing with his messy hair, making it much messier, naturally. When all he did was continue to massage her breasts very gently, she took his hand in hers and moved it to the buttons of her blouse; and gently she placed his finger and thumb on one. With an encouraging look from her, he started undoing one button at a time, and then kissing her chest as he followed the opening down. He passed over her bra and kissed her tummy in a line down to near the top of the shorts she wore, before moving those burning lips back up to kiss her breasts right along the top of that blasted garment.

Aly knew it was time to ratchet things up a notch in their relationship and hoped it didn't scare him. Harry was so timid at times about things it surprised her. As good looking as he was, she had at first assumed he'd had plenty of girlfriends. When he told her he'd only had two brief relationships it had been a revelation which caused her to frequently and vehemently curse the Dursleys for his lack of confidence. Now was one of those moments.

Moving her lips up to his ear, she whispered, "I'd really like it if you undid my bra, Harry. No one has ever touched them without cloth in the way and I want you to be the first, please, baby?" He moved a hand up from behind where it had been playing idly with her bum and tried to undo the clasp, but fumbled it, so his other hand slid around to help. It took a few more moments of fumbling, while she distracted him with another very passionate snog, for him to figure it out.

Aly kept a snicker to herself, though she couldn't help but smile against his lips, at how inexperienced Harry was. One of her boyfriends had her bra undone one night, almost before she realized his hand was under the back of her shirt. It had earned him nothing, as she'd immediately told him that was not going to happen that soon. They'd broken up a few days later. But with Harry, she wanted that, desperately.

Moments later, Harry's lips followed his hand to her erect nipples as he moved the bra up and first drank in the sight of them, then kissed them gently, almost a feather's touch. It was driving her wild. Tentatively he wrapped those fiery lips around one and slowly sucked it in. It seemed the young man learned very quickly; his hand was tenderly massaging her other breast and toying with the nipple.

Aly was in heaven and gave a little moue of appreciation. Her hand was roaming all over his chest and belly, straying down to the top of his trousers. Daringly she moved it down between them to feel the extremely firm appendage that had been throbbing against her hip since they sat down. She shifted her hips over a bit so she could feel it better with her hand. The throbbing she felt there was a new experience, and she loved it, but the size concerned her. She could feel that it seemed quite large, larger than she'd expected, not that she had any personal experience with such things. But then, she realized most girls said the same thing about a boy's cock when they first felt or saw one. She'd heard plenty from her friends and other girls she knew. It always felt or looked too big to fit, but then they always reminded each other that a baby could come out of there so why wouldn't it. Still she knew it was going to hurt going in, at least the first time anyway, whenever that happened.

The thrill she got from stroking and massaging his erection while he sucked on her breasts was intensified when he followed suit and his hand stroked down her belly, her shirt now fully open. She was almost surprised when the hand did not stop there but went all the way down between her thighs, which she spread farther to allow him. Between him suckling her very tender nipples, her massaging his firmness, and his hand firmly rubbing on her most private place, she felt she was on fire. No one had ever touched her in those places before, except a few doctors, and she was lost now in the feelings.

Her body was responding as it never had before and all she wanted was to shed more clothing, all of it in fact. Both of them were breathing hard, she into his shoulder and he as his breathe blew on her breasts from his nose exciting her even more. She wasn't sure if she was about to orgasm or what, just that she was very wet and her thinking was only centred on the feelings they were sharing.

And that's when she sussed that this was one of those moments her mum had told her about, when it would be so easy to slip over the line and do what their bodies demanded; and that could lead to severe consequences. She had no way of preventing what could easily be the fruits of their love, and that was just something she knew neither of them wanted or was ready for just yet. The smart arsed part of her mind told her, _"You certainly do want a few of those someday with him, though, doncha?"_ She almost giggled at that thought.

"Harry, love," she murmured against the skin of his neck. We need to cool off a bit, or this could lead to us causing… er… what we don't want just yet. I love you fiercely, but let's back off a bit, my love."

His head came up slowly, and it took a moment for his eyes to focus on hers, but when they did a look of horror came over his face. She knew he was about to go into a full blown, Dursley taught, self flagellating, panic attack, and she had to cut it off quickly, or she might not see him for days. His hands were already not touching her, and she grabbed them to hold both against her skin. His touch was very important to her.

"Harry," she said gently, but firmly. "Remember there are two of us here. I didn't let you do anything I didn't want done. I love you with all my heart, darling. I want you to be the father of my babies some day, if that's what you want too, but it's just a bit soon to start practicing for that." She giggled a bit, which seemed to calm him. "Oh, love, we will start doing some of that soon, I just… well… I don't know, Harry. I want you, all of you. It's so confusing. Our bodies are telling us one thing, our minds another, and then there's the whole parents and family thing. Please believe me when I say that I'm not teasing you, it is just a bit too soon to go any further than we have; at least I think it is. That's what the unofficial boyfriend and girlfriend rules say, anyway."

He nodded, obviously thinking for a moment, then said softly, "It's alright, love, I understand. It just felt so good I think I lost my head a bit there. I'll remember next time." He smiled his lopsided smile, and pulled her back in for a quick kiss.

She smiled after, telling him, "Let's go find some tea and biscuits, love, and talk in the kitchen, alright?" He smiled, and nodded.

Harry was no longer embarrassed for Aly to see the bulge in his pants. She'd made it clear right from the start, after that day in the pool when they shared their first kiss, that she understood. So when she hopped off his lap and pulled him up, she looked at it and grinned at him in a sympathetic way. He liked that about her, how she always seemed to understand him and his problems. Of course, she had no way of knowing the much bigger problems in his life, but these minor ones she was quite good at.

What amazed him was that she allowed his gaze to linger on her chest for a few moments, before she reached back and refastened her bra, only then pulling it down to cover them. He looked up then to see a bright smile on her face.

She asked, "Do you like looking at them Harry? I think you do, a lot, and truth be told I love looking at your bare chest just as much. I promise you'll get to see them often, I just can't go about topless as I'd really like to at times

They both chuckled over her small joke, and he had grinned at her, knowing she cared that much for him. Still smiling, he quipped, "You can go topless around me any time you want, love," wiggling his eyebrows,

The eyebrows thing and him smiling lopsidedly as he did, made her want to throw caution to the wind and drag him up to her room. She kissed him deeply again, once more moulding her whole body firmly to his.

Having moved, finally, to the kitchen and gotten their clothes rearranged properly, they chatted about other things, both letting their minds and bodies cool off from earlier, while the water heated for tea. When they had their tea fixed and had sipped a bit and each eaten a biscuit, she looked lovingly at him taking his hands in hers.

"Harry," she said, "I can't tell you how wonderful you are. A lot of guys would have gotten angry a bit ago. Thanks for being so understanding. I guess… no, I know, I want that with you, we just have to figure out how to keep from going too far too soon. It takes time to develop a relationship to where that is appropriate. I know how much we love each other, but that level of intimacy takes more time, deeper trust as my mum says. Maybe soon we can get a little heavier into it, but full sex has to wait a while. You okay with all that?" She knew she was blushing as she said what needed saying.

He blushed in return, smiled in kind, and answered slowly as if unsure how to put what he wanted to say, "Aly, your love means everything to me… I have never felt like this before. I want you to know I'd never try to do anything you didn't want me to… The trouble is I don't know that much about the whole thing." He was looking at the table now, as if ashamed for not knowing more. "Your mum and I spoke briefly about that today, and she said she'd ask someone called Dr Weir to talk with me. Or if he can't then your dad, but that would just be totally weird, I think."

Aly had to stifle a laugh because, even though it was humorous, it was also sad at the same time. "Harry, love, are you telling me no one ever gave you "the talk"?" By now she had become horrified at the thought, not to mention having one more thing to hate the Dursleys for.

He mumbled something about human development class at primary school and his godfather talking with him, but admitted, quietly, he still didn't know a whole lot. She quickly covered up the horror on her face with a look of concern. Reaching out to lift his chin with her hands he finally met her eyes once again.

Firmly, but lovingly, Aly told the love of her life, "You have nothing to be ashamed of for that. You aren't the only kid who's not gotten clued in by an adult. I've talked to some girls who didn't know anything beyond how to handle their period and such. Some other friends and I had to clue them in, and then send them to the school nurse for the adult point of view. Naturally I never knew of any boys like that, but I've heard stories of guys who knew nothing, and it was far from funny what they thought. I'm fairly sure you know more than a lot of those guys. At least you obviously paid attention in that class."

They were both blushing heartily at what she had felt she needed to say, but he was holding his gaze steadily on her now, not looking down. She had a bit more to say so she went on before he could interrupt her train of thought.

"Harry, you are the gentlest guy I know, and that is the difference between you and a lot of guys. Some I went out with were all hands on the first date. Needless to say there was no second date. But you, my love, you are totally different from anyone I know. You are the kindest, sweetest, gentlest, most caring boy I ever went out with. That you are willing to let things develop as slowly as they need to just makes me love you more. We probably will get what we both want fairly soon, but it isn't that time just yet. Besides," she grinned and blushed again, "I've heard it's better if you learn from each other over a time what the other likes and doesn't. Does that all make sense, love?"

Aly was concerned at the way he looked; it was an expression she couldn't identify. There was love there, and what seemed to be respect, mixed with something indefinable, a darkness and depth of feeling foreign to her, but he was also blushing a bit at her reference to learning from each other. She hoped he'd say something soon, but she remained quiet waiting for him.

Listening to the woman he loved so much speak of things people their age almost never talked about this frankly, not with the opposite sex at least, filled Harry with an even greater love for her. Yes, parts of it embarrassed him, things he knew next to nothing about, like girls' periods and such, but he was very glad she trusted him enough to speak like this with him. It was definitely a new experience for him. He felt his admiration along with his love increase again; not to mention he was finding things in this young woman he wished were present in his friends at times. And when Aly stopped speaking Harry had to think about what she'd said and let it percolate for a moment before he answered.

He squeezed her hands lightly and smiled into the hazel-grey pools of her eyes, speaking softly, but happily, "I love you so much, Aly, so I want you to know I wouldn't ever pressure you for that, to have sex. I respect and admire you too much. You mean too much to me. Yes, a bit ago I would have probably gone as far as you would have let me, but you're right; that definitely is something that needs a greater level of trust, I think." He grinned and blushed like she had a moment before and added, "I like the idea of learning slowly from each other. That should be lots of fun." He again waggled his eyebrows earning a giggle and slight blush for his efforts.

He looked down for a moment, collecting his thoughts again before he said more. "Love, there is something you need to know about me, and I can't tell you today, but very soon I promise. I know you know I'm hiding something, and this is really big, like it could get me in a lot of trouble for telling you if it isn't done the right way. Besides which, you wouldn't believe me if I told you without being able to demonstrate as well. That I can't do without some help. I'll try to set that up for later in the week, and then I'll need to clue the rest of your family in as well. All of you need to know, but it is a secret you absolutely have to keep. Can you do that for me? Wait until I get some things set up so it doesn't make you think I'm nutters?"

Aly looked at her love and wondered what in the bloody hell he could be talking about. "Harry, erm, I don't know what to say. I want to ask all sorts of questions and grill you for hours on end, but you know I'd not do that to you. I might do it to my friends just to tease them," she smirked, "but not to you, because you say you can't tell. Oh, hell… this is frustrating. I almost wish you hadn't told me that. I mean it sounds like you're a royal hiding in plain sight, or that you are Merlin reincarnated or something."

As she watched, his face closed up and she knew she'd get nothing from him. He was a bit irritating that way, but it also meant she could trust him with her deepest secrets; that, whatever happened between them eventually, she would be able to trust that no one else would ever learn of them from him.

Playing to his sympathies, actually just joking around, she grinned and pulled out her best puppy-dog-eyes. She asked, "So tell me, Harry darling, what can possibly be such a big secret that you would deny your loving girlfriend advance knowledge before the big unveiling?"

Harry laughed at her playing around. She knew him well enough by now to know he didn't give up that easily. "Why, Miss Bronson, do you think that such a thin ploy will work with me, the master of deception?"

Her tinkling laughter was something that always made his heart soar, and it did now, naturally. He really wanted to tell her, but without being able to prove it, he knew she would not believe him. He added to his previous statement, "I'm afraid, my love, the puppy dog eyes and the pouting won't work on this one. I really do have to set this up for you. You will be amazed, and I mean blown away, by this. It will be a magical experience; you can bet your sweet bum on that. Hmm, on second thought I like your bum and all of your parts right where they are, so better think of something not attached." He smirked just to make her crazy, which he knew mysteries did.

To compensate for his holding this back from her, he leaned across the corner of the table to capture her lips with his. It didn't take long until she was sitting in his lap, though he didn't recall how she got there and it really didn't matter either.

In a few days he'd be able to unload his big secret to her and her family. He sincerely hoped she and they would react well to it. He decided then to tell her first, as he'd thought to do. If she took it well, he was fairly sure the rest of the family would. It was just a matter of timing with Hermione, or whoever helped him. He once again cursed the Ministry and their stupid age restriction. He firmly believed it should be lowered to fourteen or fifteen, at least for the duration of the war.

The rest of their afternoon was spent in the pool, each teasing the other with kisses and caresses, and playful banter. It was a perfect afternoon for both of them. Being in love as they were made everything perfect. Harry didn't have to think of being anything but Harry, and knew he never would with Aly… she was perfect for him. She, of course, thought the same of him.

---END (for now)---

**End note:** I may or may not continue this story. I love the concept, but for now it will remain a plot 'roo. For those who don't know, the ideas that attack me are mostly bigger and nastier than bunnies, so I call 'em plot 'roos. They have a tendency to beat up on me when I try to ignore 'em. If folks like this well enough I will continue it someday, but for now I need to finish about mimblewimble other stories I have going.

Also, I know this is not as polished as my other stories, has a few internal inconsistencies and is WAY off canon. If I continue this it will likely ignore most of what happened in DH. I will also split this into two chapters should I continue it. I'm only posting it as one because of the nature of the file it is in.

HT 2/09


	4. Chapter 4

Fate's Game Bit

by

Herman Tumbleweed

**Disclaimer: **Some might consider this blasphemy; some will find it humorous; JK Rowling would probably have a heart attack, despite that she owns the thing.

**A/N: **Originally written as an omake for a discussion about the story Thoughts of Pudding by Brian64 on his Yahoo! Group. And, apologies to Robst for the title. Thanks to Mike, aka grenouille7777, for the great beta job.

**FGB**

Molly Weasley was bustling about in her kitchen.It was, the one place in the world where she was truly the "Queen of the Universe" she always assumed herself to be, at least as far as her children were concerned—grown or not. She had many things going on at once, including dinner and several potions for household and Order use.

Buried within the several cauldrons brewing was an innocent _looking_, but not _at all_ innocent concoction; one often used by witches to ensure they or their progeny wound up with the proper love match. Well, the proper match in said witches' opinions, whether that be for political, financial, or physical security, or just to satisfy their own desires. In other words a powerful love potion, and Molly Weasley in her role as "Queen of the Universe" had decreed that her two youngest would have the best possible matches, to wit: Ronald with one Ms Hermione Jean Granger, and her precious First-Weasley-Girl-In-Many-Generations, Ginevra, with Harry James The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Become-The-Man-Who-Would-Conquer(-Eventually) Potter.

Therefore, when the witch and wizard whom she had decided would be paired with her two darlings showed up at The Burrow, as they eventually would later in the summer thanks to the manipulations of her manipulation mentor, one Albus PWB Dumbledore, she would be ready to ensure they fell in love with said darlings. This time she had made an especially large batch, even though it only took a few drops in someone's pumpkin juice or tea to achieve the desired effect. It was a well-established fact that large doses were extremely dangerous, and the potion could, in very large amounts, be almost instantly fatal. Regardless, Molly Prewett Weasley was never one for leaving such things to chance, so was making sure she had enough for two more long-term dosing schedules if needed.

As the day progressed, Molly buzzed happily around her home, merrily doing the myriad tasks any homemaker does for her family and herself. It was a way to keep herself busy and her mind off the war which loomed ever closer to endangering her family. As the day neared its end, and Arthur was due home soon, she had been decanting the various potions, some directly into bottles and vials used for healing purposes, some into other containers to cool before being properly stored.

The aforementioned special potion, the reason she had such a wonderful home with such a wonderful(-ly pliant) husband, was ladled into a drinking glass, since all the other normal containers she used for cooling were already in use. It still needed to be divided into its three separate containers and have the final ingredient added which would bind it to a specific person.

She went about cleaning up the cauldrons and had just finished when the Floo flared and Arthur stepped through. Without a thought, Molly selflessly set down the glass of water she'd just poured for herself in favour of greeting her wonderful(ly pliant) man in the manner a proper wife should.

"How was your day, dear," she warmly inquired, as she stepped over to him and wrapped him in a proper wifely hug.

Returning the hug just as warmly, as he always did, and with equal enthusiasm for his wonderful wife, Arthur replied, "Not a bad day, all things considered. Lots of stirred up folks what with Fudge on his way out. No telling, at the moment, who the next Minister will be, though Amelia Bones seems to have the inside track, what with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named having "officially" returned."

"Well, I'm sure Albus has some things in mind for the Ministry, especially if Amelia should win the top spot. She was always one to listen to reason."

"Yes," he replied, "I believe Albus has much in mind, to be sure. I only hope that whoever the new minister is can manage to reorganize things so as to make the Aurors more effective, and actually start fighting the Death Eaters. We don't seem to be accomplishing much so far."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry, dear," the ever ebulliently optimistic woman assured her husband, "I'm sure Albus can get things working properly again once Fudge is ousted" She reached over to pick up her glass of water, being quite thirsty after all her work of the afternoon, and took a long drink.

Arthur asked, "Looks like you've been brewing up healing potions again, love?"

"Why yes, dear, we always need such things here during the summer, what with the children about, and I made extra for the Order in case they are needed at headquarters. Several of us are doing so..." she trailed off with an odd look on her face. She then looked strangely at the glass in her hand and back to the counter where stood an identical glass that should have been the love potion, but was several inches over from where she thought she had placed it.

Concerned, Arthur asked, "Mollywobbles, are you alright? You don't look well; perhaps you've been overdoing things a bit. I know how worried you are about... Molly!" The last was nearly shouted as the glass slipped from the stricken woman's hand and she crumpled to the floor. She was dead before she finished falling.

Molly had just learned her lesson about not paying attention to detail, and about messing about in the affairs of others who had a right to live their own lives. If Fate had taken a direct hand in her drinking from the wrong glass, the world would never know.

**FGB**

Arthur was a broken man for a few weeks, but slowly he recovered and was soon back to being the sharp-minded and assertive fellow he'd been while at Hogwarts; something not seen much in him since he started dating his now deceased wife. It wasn't long before he realized his "Mollywobbles", who was found to have died of an overdose of love potion, had been using it on him for decades. That made him extremely angry at her, and he wanted to go out and piss on her grave nightly. He did so a few times just to make himself feel better after he'd over-imbibed a bit.

He also learned, from reading her journal, which he found when cleaning out her closet, that she planned to provide it for use by her two youngest to ensure they captured those who their hearts desired. He'd had to ensure his two youngest were never able to dose the other two and had taken some draconian measures to keep them from it. But that is another story for another time.

**End**

**Cruel author's note:** (Again, nothing cruel about the note, but as for the author I'm sure some are thinking evil thoughts.) I may well use this as a scene in a future chapter of one of my stories, so I didn't see the need to go on with it to show MoRon and Binty's temper tantrums when Arthur took them in hand to protect Harry and Hermione. Hope you enjoyed it.


	5. How that awful night might have ended

**How that awful night might have ended**

**A drabble by Herman Tumbleweed**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any rights to Harry Potter nor to any of the characters or situations of that series as created by Joanne Kathleen Rowling. If I did, the story would have a lot fewer plot holes and misleading plot lines. And that's not to mention it would have been internally consistent and had a logical conclusion.

**Godric**'**s Hollow 9:57 p.m. 31 October 1981**

Sirius repeatedly begged Hagrid to give Harry to him in the aftermath of the disaster that had befallen the family he considered himself to be part of. This was _**his**_** godson**, for Merlin's sake, and he had every right to take him, but the gentle half-giant was firm in following the orders given him by The Great Albus Dumbledore. Sirius could hear the capitalization when the big man said that phrase and it made him wonder.

After arguing for several minutes with Hagrid, as the big fellow turned away for a moment it suddenly occurred to Sirius that he was wasting his time arguing. He'd be better off to find and deliver justice to the bastard who'd betrayed his family.

It was a bit jarring to Hagrid when the smaller man suddenly changed tack. "Hagrid," Sirius said in a defeated tone, "why don't you take my bike to get Harry back to Hogwarts, I just don't think I'm going to need it for a while. It's gotta be more comfortable than riding that old broom all the way back, probably faster too."

"Aire ye sure, Sirius? I can' be a takin' yer motorcycle from ye. How ye gonna ge' 'round?

"Don't worry 'bout me, old friend, I can Apparate, and I have something to do. Got a rat to catch and kill; that slimy fucking bastard Peter."

"Wha'cha mean, Sirius?" The big man asked.

"Never mind, Hagrid, it's all my fault. Never should have trusted the bastard in all this. You go on now. Here, lemme show ya how to operate this thing."

After a few minutes of instruction, Hagrid rode off a little way, then touched the button which allowed the machine to become airborne. He circled the clearing where the house stood a few times, only a couple of metres off the ground. As he passed behind the house out of Sirius's sight for a moment, neither man saw the powerful spell that hit the motorcycle rider. While the half-giant was extremely resistant to spells, the memory charm did its work. He waved one last time at the other man, before gaining altitude and flying off in a north-northwest direction.

Standing and watching Hagrid leave with his godson, Sirius felt his heart break, and then his resolve hardened and he apparated away to begin his search. He'd find that rotten bastard if it was the last thing he did. It **was**, in fact, the last thing he did for a number of years, though in his more lucid moments he would often wonder if the son-of-a-bitch was a man with a rat Animagus form or a rat with a human Animagus form.

Back in the clearing, as the slight pop of Sirius leaving sounded, an old man with long white hair and beard stepped out of the shadows as he removed an invisibility cloak. He walked to the tree line and turned to look at the house for a moment, then waved his wand and the house crumbled further, and caught fire. Smiling slightly, he turned away and tucked his wand into a holster hidden in the folds of his garish robes. Softly, in a baritone voice mellowed by age, the old wizard murmured, "Mischief managed."

A moment later there was the subtle blue flash of a portkey activating and the clearing was once more empty except for the roaring fire which quickly destroyed the last residence of James and Lily Potter, along with their bodies and all their treasured possessions and mementos of their lives.


	6. Lockhart's Mirror

**A/N:** Just a very short drabble that came to mind as I was reading something else that had nothing to do with this. That was Witherwings01's The Needs of the One here on ffn. Good story, btw. This takes place during CoS when the professors had to escort the students between classes.

**Lockhart's Mirror  
**

"Professor" Lockhart strode with his second year students down the corridor, as he escorted them to their next class. In Harry's none-too-complimentary thoughts, which he expressed in a whisper to Hermione, the purported professor "minced" his way down the hall. The two, trailed by Ron who completely missed Harry's comment, chuckled and giggled for a moment. Ahead of the two amused second years, who were towards the back of the pack, so to speak, the "great ponce" pulled out a hand mirror the size of Muggle notebook to check his hair. Harry wondered if he was checking his makeup as well, though he did wonder how the man had a pocket large enough to hold the bloody thing.

Just at the corner of the hallway they needed to turn down, Lavender Brown asked her hero where he'd gotten that. The "Legendary" (at least in his own mind) wizard stopped and turned to tell her about the great little mirror and glass shop in Diagon Alley where he purchased the wonderful device. He took the time, as most of the other students were bored witless, to explain that it could appear as small as a hand compact mirror or as large as a wall mirror. "I find it especially handy when I need to check my overall appearance and there isn't a full-length mirror about", he told the enthralled girls at the front of the group.

As the rather dandy fellow turned back to the corridor, he paused to again check his appearance, and as he did noticed some movement in the mirror over his shoulder. Adjusting the mirror so he could see better, what he saw was a large reptilian snout, very long fangs and a pair of huge yellow eyes. At that moment, as he said, "Oh bugger," he locked up and neither said nor saw nothing else for a few months.

Score: DADA curse 37; DADA professors 0.

As the rest of the class, including Ron, ran helter-skelter and screaming back the way they'd come, Harry and Hermione followed more sedately and could have sworn they heard an odd voice in the adjacent hall. It sounded like a teen male's voice overlaying a familiar girl's voice as it said, "Darn, sorry Slythie, I thought sure we had a good meal for you. Too bad that dratted ponce had a mirror. Come on, lets go see if we can find you some nice juicy rats, or better yet a mangy tabby for supper."


	7. Chapter 7 Leetle Boy

**Leetle Boy**

by **Herman****Tumbleweed**

**Furry****old****author's****disclaimer:**JKR still owns this world; I still own an old pickup and an old computer. Sure could use a chair, though. **This** is serious _crack_, so spit takes are your own responsibility. Personally, I try not to drink or eat when reading stuff like this, saves on keyboards, monitors, printers, computers, and wear and tear on my lungs.

**Furry new story:**

"Harry Potter," intoned the supposed greatest wizard alive.

The subject of said old fart's intonation groaned. "Now fucking what?" groused the young wizard as his best friend pushed him in the back to get him moving toward the top table. He scowled half-heartedly over his shoulder at the lovely witch whom he thought was growing lovelier each day. Still grumbling about furry old buzzards and assorted other miscreants, he stomped his way to the furry old fart, who indicated the side-chamber where the other champions had been sent.

Harry stopped to stare/glare at him, and snarled, "Just so you know, **Headmaster**, I KNOW that this is just more of your insane bullshit; and you know I know, don't you? And here was me thinking, '_Hey, __Harry, __a __really __quiet__ year__ this __year. __No __maniac __teachers, __well, __except__ for__ the __usual, __and__ no__ death-__defying__ crap. __Not __even __any __Quidditch__ where__ someone __tries __to __kill __ya.'_ Hmph, fucking bullshit is all I get at this fucking place."

"Mr Potter! Watch your language," cried the tall, skinny old harridan who was allegedly his head of house, but who never seemed to do anything to help or protect Harry.

He just glared at her with a slight glow in his eyes for a moment. Finally, he growled, "Tell me why I should, _Professor._ What are you gonna do, give me detention? Take away house points from a bunch of wankers who are already thinking I scammed the fucking Goblet of Roasted Shite? Expel me? Right! The first two I couldn't give half a shite about, and I know you won't do the last because for some reason this pompous walking anachronistic eye-sore needs me around here. So all of ya, just piss off and leave me go put up with the scowling shithead, the blonde bomber, and Mr I'm-the happiest-bloke-in-the-world."

The young more-than-ticked wizard left his Headmaster, aka the pompous walking anachronistic eye-sore, and his purported Head of House, along with the rest of the staff, a couple of Ministry officials, two other school heads, and his gobsmacked school mates standing or sitting in absolute shocked silence. Footfalls fairly rang off the walls as he stomped, again, to the door where he fairly surged into the chamber with the other champions, his temper evident to one and all. As soon as the door slammed behind him, he growled at the three who looked up at him.

The Veela chick queried, "What eez eet, do zey want us back in zere now?"

Glowering at her, Harry growled again and turned his back on her. Cedric walked over and gently asked, "Harry? What happened out there? You look more than slightly miffed."

Harry was **way** more than _slightly __miffed_. In fact he was so far beyond that he'd left miffed behind a couple of dozens of levels back. All he could do was mutter to himself about all the crap in his life, and why couldn't he have a nice quiet year, and all he wanted was a girlfriend, and he didn't need any more fucking adventure in his life… and was working his way up to a great pity party, and determinedly ignoring Mr way-too-damned-cool-for-his-own-good Hufflepuff. He also ignored the huffs of the Veela chick, and the scoffing of the resident Quidditch "star".

Cedric finally twigged on what Harry was muttering. "Holy Hopping Merlin, Harry, don't tell me your name came out of the Goblet after I came in here." At Harry's over-the-shoulder glare, he backed up a step and yelped, "You've got to be shittin' me, mate!"

"No Cedric, I'm not!" Harry growled. Again.

"What the fuck…" said Cedric.

"(Something that had to be swearing in Bulgarian)…" said the Quidditch star.

"What?" said the Veela chick. Turning to the other two she demanded, "'e cannot compete, 'e is just a leetle boy!"

Harry swiveled to her and growled again, only louder, as he grabbed his package, "I got your '**leetle**** boy'** right fuckin' here, Frenchie, so just fuckin' back off!" He shook his tackle a few times then let go and glared again at the twit.

Glaring right back, Miss Frenchie 1994 also growled, and demanded, "Eef you are so 'cock'-sure of yourself, **Leetle ****Boy**, zen 'ang eet out and prove eet."

Harry was just incensed enough at the whole cocked-up situation that he'd lost all sense of propriety. Continuing to glare at the hot blonde (he had to admit that, like most women, she was even hotter when angry), he jerked down his zip, fished around in his pants for a moment, and reeled out his Super-Sized Mr Happy.

"Holy Mother…" said Cedric.

"(Something equally religious sounding)," said the Bulgarian.

"Merde… Mon Dieu…" said the Veela chick as her eyes got huge and she licked her lips. Several times. Her feet seemed to work on their own as she slowly started gliding in his direction, and her hands came up to reach out for him, at his lower head level to be sure.

Harry stood his ground as she approached, but just as she was about to grab him it all went intolerably pear shaped, as things are wont to do in Harry Potter's life.

The door slammed open, and Dumbledore, the other two school heads, assorted Ministry morons, a brassed off Head of Gryffindor House, a very amused and exceptionally weird DADA professor, and one greasy git stormed in. They all came to a complete halt, mostly, though it was only through force of will that most of them stayed standing as the ones behind rammed into them. Fortunately, the Hagrid sized Beauxbatons Headmistress had immediately stepped to the side in the general direction of her student, or there might have been several serious injuries and a fatality or two. She still came to a screeching halt in mid stride, her slamming footfall causing the floor to shake and a couple of spiders to be dislodged from the chandelier.

Everyone gaped at the frozen tableau of two champions staring at two other champions, one very female champion reaching out to take hold of last champion's accoutrement, and the final champion standing glaring at her with his One Eyed Trouser Basilisk hanging out.

Naturally it was the greasy git snarky arsehole (in Harry's and most peoples' opinion) who commented. "Just like your father, Potter; when all else fails**,** show off that you truly are the biggest dick in school. Damn Potters, no wonder no one else stands a chance…"

**end of crackishness**

Thanks to my friend Mike for the beta work. He goes by grenouille7777, if you haven't already figured that out, and is very good writer. Go read his stuff, it's great.

**Omake by Ralph S:**

"Leave my father out of this!" Snarling, Harry turned to leave Bat, Fat & Entourage to their own devices. If only he could shake that nagging feeling of having forgotten something _important_.

"(Heartfelt gasp)", said one of the Veela chick's classmates.

"(East European Damnation)," replied a surly-looking Bulgarian.

"Harry! What do you think you're DOING!" Squealing, the brown-haired vision of beauty from the House of Gryffindor threw herself at him, trying to hide Harry's Basilisk with both of her hands.


	8. Chapter 8 An Addams Alternative 1

An Addams Alternative

by

Herman Tumbleweed

**Disclaimer:**Harry Potter, The Addams Family, and The Munsters are the intellectual properties of their respective creators and assorted people with lots of high-priced bottom feeders... er, solicitors, aka lawyers to us less civilized folks. I write for fun, and sadly do not get paid for this work, or any others in these universes belonging to said creators and assorted entities with the hired bottom feeders.

**A/N:** **This ****story ****is ****RATED ****M ****for ****a ****very ****good ****reason, ****to ****wit: ****it ****is ****written ****for**** adults ****and ****contains ****adult**** language, ****situations, ****and ****scenes**** not ****appropriate ****for**** those ****under**** 17. ****Read ****at ****your ****own ****risk.**

**Also:**This story is based rather loosely on a challenge by Reptillia28. See his author page on fanfiction(dot)net for the full challenge. I'm deviating somewhat from the challenge, if you are familiar with it, and those things will become apparent as they occur.

Yes, there are other HP/Addams family crossovers out there, most notably by Jeconais and Ishtar, but I hope to make this one different from those. If you haven't read their work, go to fanficauthors(dot)net and do so. All of their stories are great.

This is _not_ crack, but will have a lot of what seems like it at times. Also there will be some Dumbledore and Weasley bashing, at least of certain members of that family whom I have come to dislike as characters in canon. The story will be mostly humorous. but there will be some serious parts as well.

**Chapter ****One:** **Darkness ****Covers ****a ****Lot ****of ****Sins.**

It was a moonless, overcast, gloriously depressing dark night; that is to say, it was glorious to the occupants of one antique Rolls Royce as it rolled quickly, much too quickly if police radar could actually detect it, down the A3 through Surrey. The driver seemed to sit a bit taller in the saddle, so to speak, than most, and had a rather unusual appearance, though with it being as dark as it was almost no one would have noticed. Also unnoticed in the darkness, was the disembodied hand riding on the dashboard. The two occupants of the rear compartment of the car were snuggled up to one another, but not out of fear of the night; quite to the contrary they were instead glorying in its singularly depressing mood. She was delighted, and he was his ever-jovial self.

"Oh, Gomez," she quietly lamented, "if only there were a magnificently violent thunderstorm to go with this dark depressing evening."

"Now, now, my dear," he chided, "one can't have everything. I'm quite sure, this being Britain, that a nice heavy rain should start falling at any time."

"I know, chéri, but..."

That was as far as she got when he pulled her more tightly to him and intoned in a much deeper voice, "Oh, Tish, you spoke French..."

With that she melted even closer to him and for a bit they engaged in one of those activities common to married people. The compartment expanded greatly, and they tangoed to music from a source beyond the realm of normal human understanding.

That is, until they were rudely interrupted by the sound of a motorcycle passing – overhead, no less. The impeccably dressed, if now somewhat rumpled, male of the pair looked up, followed a moment later by his somewhat disgruntled looking, impeccably dressed as well (and now also somewhat rumpled), wife.

"How extraordinary, Tish," the man enthused. "A flying motorcycle; almost sounds like an old Harley, at that." Then he disappointedly added, "Probably a BMW or Triumph, though. That's too bad; a Harley is a much better motorcycle, and sounds meaner too."

She commented absently, yet in an intentionally seductive manner, "And you know how much I love a mean sound, mon cher."

"Tish," his voice grew dark with lust, "you spoke French again, and so soon after the last time..."

Immediately the couple were dancing suggestively again, he with a rose in his teeth which she not so gently plucked from his mouth. Seeing blood there, she stopped their dance to suck, also not so gently, at his bleeding lips, moaning deeply in her throat. He growled at that, until there was a louder groan from the driver with a slightly questioning lift at the end.

Instantly the two were seated again and the compartment had shrunk back to its original configuration. Gomez inquired, "What was that, Lurch?"

To the answering groan, he looked questioningly at Morticia, before replying, "Excellent idea, my good man. We should indeed follow that bike; perhaps we can see what might be transpiring. Could be some really dark evil magic afoot," he rubbed the palms of his hands together in the classic mad scientist cliché. Turning to his black**-**dressed, and blacker**-**haired, companion, he asked, "Dear, didn't we have distant relatives around this area at one time?"

After thinking a moment, she replied, "Why yes, my darling, there were indeed some _Dursleys_ in a small town called Little Whinging."

At another groan from the front seat, the man, with slicked-back black hair, pencil thin moustache, and very dark pinstriped suit enthused, "How extraordinary, so the bike seems headed for Little Whinging? That would be marvellous if they are involved in this."

Sounding very disappointed, the thin, tightly dressed woman added, "Last I heard, they were very much against magic of any sort, dear. Seems they had married out of the family, and to normals at that, as embarrassing as it is to admit. Thus they became white sheep pariahs. Very sad situation and I am sure they, whoever might be left, would have nothing to do with something of this nature. Hmm…" she trailed off in deep thought.

"What is it, my nightshade flower?" He asked.

"Just a passing thought. I believe there may also have been another branch of the family near here, though I can't seem to recall the name right now."

"How extraordinary," he once more rubbed his hands together in gleeful anticipation, "maybe they married back into the family again and are coming back into the fold." He was as enthusiastic as if he'd just discovered a sack of gold, not that he didn't have that in abundance, but a bit more wealth was always welcome. It was a very large family, after all. Having two branches of the family intermarry, in the ancient Addams tradition, would be at least as good as that imaginary sack of gold. (It should be noted that unlike the British magicals, and many other European, "purebloods", the Addams family and all its offshoots were careful not to marry others who were too closely related. They'd seen the disaster that practice had created in the European monarchies, not to mention the declining so-called pureblood magicals.)

**Elsewhere, in what can best be described as another dimension:**

Harry Potter was a bit perplexed. One minute he'd been fighting Death Eaters right, left and centre, then he'd briefly crossed wands (the wooden kind, so get your mind outa the gutter) with Voldemort. Then he found himself here; in a waiting room; which, like all waiting rooms everywhere, had a lot of really old magazines, none of which were in the remotest reaches of reality, or even unreality, appealing to a seventeen year old wizard fresh from battle with a dark wizard. Not that the youngster was interested in _any_ magazines of _any__sort_ at the moment. (The reader can believe, of course, that in all truth had there been the right sort of magazine, ones with perhaps scantily clad or unclad young women they _might_ have had a chance of attracting his attention. There were none, naturally.) The room was, of course, complete with fake potted plants, really bland wallpaper, and the awfulest***** elevator music in existence. Harry ignored all of this, magazines as well for all that they covered every surface. His mind was stuck on what the bloody hell he was doing here.

At first Harry thought that perhaps they'd won, then he'd gone to Saint Mungo's to wait for his friends to be healed, but that didn't make sense. If he didn't remember anything after his brief fight with ol' snake face, how did he get here without remembering and without being injured? For that matter why was he dressed in jeans, a tee shirt, and trainers, rather than the robes he distinctly recalled having been wearing during that final, horrendous battle where so many people had died? Furthermore, this didn't look like the magical hospital at all. There were no wizards or witches sitting about with an extra arm sticking out of their head, or a cauldron grafted to their chest, or, Merlin forbid, a really nasty cold. It was populated by ordinary looking folks just like him; even if he didn't really consider himself _all__that_ ordinary, mind.

While he pondered on why the bloody hell he couldn't remember how the bloody blazing hell he'd gotten here, and for that matter where the bloody blazing blooming hell here was, Harry kept hearing names being called out and people would get up to follow people with clipboards through a door. He briefly contemplated getting up to ask where the bloody blazing blooming brimstone-burning hell **here** was, but decided that was enough crack-fuelled alliteration for one story. As well, he decided that he'd do what he always did and wait for someone to help him figure it out.

Now, it was not that the confused young wizard was unintelligent, not by any stretch of the imagination. It was more that he'd gotten used to being told what to do, when to do it, and usually _how_ to do it. In fact, he recalled at that moment a conversation with the headmaster during his second year at Hogwarts when he'd wondered if that was some sort of weird conditioning built into the entire British education system, Wizarding and Muggle alike. But then he realized he'd completely forgotten about it after asking it of his now deceased erstwhile mentor, one Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. He then snorted when he realized what a horridly pretentious name that was. If it had been him, he'd have had it legally shortened as soon as he was able to.

And then, after he remembered the question he'd asked rather impertinently about education systems, it was as if a fog lifted from his mind and he suddenly could see all that had gone on in his life. Said memories included a number of times the crazy old fart had mind woogied him and many others to keep him and them from asking too many of such probing questions, even well before he started Hogwarts. A lot of the pre-Hogwarts ones were nurses, school administrators, and public officials who were asking about his living conditions. He growled, literally.

His string of expletives would have turned the air a nice shade of neon-navy blue, had that actually been possible. The tirade ended with, "That bloody damn wanker. What the... how could he... who in... Merlin's Balls! The son-of-a-bitch had no right to do all of that. He used his positions of power and authority to control me and so many others, to manipulate and move us around for his own aims. The freakin' bastard may have been older than dirt," Harry knew he was exaggerating, if only slightly, though it felt good to do so, "but he didn't know every damn thing and it was obvious the crazy old coot bungled at least half of what he did muck with. Gah..." he trailed off in disgust. He'd just realized that the barmy old furry bastard he'd looked up to for so long had really, really, really screwed the pooch.

And he wished that he, Harry James Potter, could go back and fix a lot of it, not to mention kicking the old coot right in the balls... several times. With pointy-steel-toed dragon hide boots. He was _highly __ticked_ (which in Britain is only one threat level below the highest of said levels, that being _rather __angry_, for those who keep track of such things).

To say that one Harry James Potter, once and almost-would-be-slayer of the _other_ pretentious git in his life, was fuming would be quite the understatement. Consequently, when a young woman of quite fetching appearance in equally fetching tight all black attire called out in a bored sounding, flat, sexy, voice, "Potter, Harry James, born Thirty-first July Nineteen Eighty, died Second May Nineteen Ninety-eight", he was quite ready to answer the call.

The young man erupted to his feet and opened his mouth intending to growl, or more likely yell, some quite inane, if brief, diatribe about why he was here. That was when he got his first look at the young woman, and when that voice fully registered. Now, Harry was a normal (as in quite hormonal) teen male. So, when he got a good look at the fetching young woman in the equally fetching tight all black attire, his mouth snapped shut on his impending tirade. His anger cooled immediately, the adrenaline having been instantly replaced with a flood of endorphins creating a considerable feeling of lust and even a semi, as if his blood was trying to decide which was better, thinking angrily or lusting. The latter was winning with the deluge of said endorphins, in no small part fuelled by that voice which seemed to cut straight to the chase; or go straight to his crotch via the pleasure centres of his brain, depending on how you look at it.

While he didn't quite start drooling, he did think, dimly of course, _"Damn, __if __all, __or __even __most, __of __the __girls __here __are __as __hot __as __her, __I'm __stayin'!__ Screw__ the__ Wizarding __World__ and__ all__ the__ stupid __sheeple __in__ it!"_ Not that he knew if it was even possible _to_ go back, but he was staying regardless. Hot chicks, no barmy old coots, and no dark lords? Heaven rocked. Or, whatever this place was called. Surprisingly, in the midst of all that earlier hard thinking, Harry had decided he was dead, since when others were called it had included a death date just as his did a moment before. He wasn't happy about it, but with birds like this, he was beginning to like the idea. (All this long winded description, naturally took much more time to read than the second or two it took to actually occur.)

As he approached the vision of loveliness, who looked quite familiar, though he couldn't place her, she stated more than asked, in that chillingly seductive flat voice, "Mr Potter."

With a rather dry throat Harry managed to croak out, "Yes, that's me."

"Ah good," she replied, "I'm to escort you personally to my superior's office. He'll be most... uhm, interested to see you." He could have sworn she added, "Again," in an undertone. She seemed so pleasant, and comforting in a dark, bad girl sort of way which he didn't understand, that he ignored what he thought he'd heard as likely being the result of too much battle noise affecting his hearing. And it had been extremely noisy, to say the least. Her Yank accent didn't dampen his ardour in the least.

Harry decided that just being in the presence of such a gorgeous example of the black flower of young womanhood was nearly reward enough for having endured what amounted to Hell on Earth for most of seventeen years. Nearly. Of course, if she'd spend a _lot_ of time with him so he could get to _know_ her that would be even better. By _know__ her_, he meant _very_ well; make that _very,__very_ well.

He wished he was more suave and knew how to chat up girls, but he hadn't a clue of how to go about such a thing. It seemed he'd spent all his formative years either fighting some kind of battle, from Dudley to Dementors to Dark Lords, or preparing for one. It was only after following her through the bland door into an equally bland hallway with colour-coordinated bland doors every few yards that any real thoughts not concerned with _getting __to __know_ said vision of loveliness _much__ better_ finally started to percolate through the hormone haze. Naturally, Harry didn't notice any of that bland decor, nor the equally bland and depressing excuse for music, as he concentrated mostly on the swaying hips one step ahead and to his left.

They walked in silence for quite some ways, not that he noticed any distance or passage of time as riveted, or one might say welded, as his attention was. However, despite his lack of romantic education, he did finally come up with a question, and he cleared his throat to enquire, "Excuse me, Miss, but who is it I'm to see?"

The young woman glared seductively over her shoulder at him. "Well, aren't you the polite one, Mr Potter," she replied in her chillingly flat voice that went straight to Harry's nether regions, even _more_ enhanced by his pleasure centres this time. Yep, the endorphins and the southern bound blood flow were definitely winning. "I'm afraid, though," she continued, "I can't answer that as my superior prefers to introduce himself. I can tell you that he is _quite __miffed_," (For reference, this is one threat level below _highly__ticked_.)

Harry pondered that for a moment, and shrugged since he was accustomed to people who had quirky ways. If there was one thing one learned in the Wizarding World, it was to accept that people, especially those with important – or even self-important – positions, were quirky.

Somehow, despite still admiring her trim, round, swaying bum, tiny waist, and the curve of her modestly generous bust, he managed to ask, "May I enquire as to _your_ name then, Miss?" Somehow he hadn't croaked, choked, squeaked, or even run that all together. He thought he might be improving in his abilities to talk to girls. Wouldn't that be a boon, he realized, especially if there were more girls anything at all like her around here.

She gave a small disturbingly nasty laugh, which Harry found to be almost as sexy as she was (and incidentally went straight to Harry's pleasure centre enhanced growing semi as well), and again glared seductively over her shoulder. "I apologize, Mr Potter, as I should have introduced myself before. I'm afraid we don't get all that many handsome young men like you here, mostly old people these days. I'm Wednesday, and I am _very_ pleased to meet you."

He could have sworn she once more added, "Again," under her breath, but decided it was his slightly blood starved brain playing tricks on him. Before he could reply, she stopped at an unremarkable door and the thought oozed through his hormone clogged mind that he had no idea how she knew one portal from another, since they had no markings on them and all looked exactly alike.

"Well, here we are, Mr Potter." She opened the door and ushered him in, indicating he should take a seat in front of the desk.

He barely noticed the office, though, since he was still having endorphin issues; evidenced by his now having somewhat more than a semi. He managed to reply in a quite normal voice, however, as he gazed at her lovely expressionless face, "Thank you, Wednesday, it has been a pleasure meeting you, as well. I do hope we see each other again. _Soon_," he added with emphasis.

She gave out with another of those brief bone-chilling laughs, winked, and exited, pulling the door shut with a light snick of the latch. That was when Harry's mid brain functions started redirecting his thoughts from his lower brain functions toward his higher brain functions, and he noticed the office was not nearly as blandly and unremarkably decorated as his previous recent environs. In fact, if he could have placed a label on the decor he'd have called it late baroque museum. Or perhaps, he decided upon spotting the wall behind the desk, mid-Elizabethan torture chamber would be more apropos. Although, he thought the harpsichord in one corner was a nice touch.

He sat, or rather plopped, into the chair she'd gestured him to, and the blood flow to his nether regions suddenly decided that a better clime might be even farther south in his metatarsal regions. In other words it seemed like he got even more light headed than from the earlier endorphin rush, as adrenaline reasserted itself, and the fight or flight syndrome decided that it was too chicken for this shite; in short, it seemed his blood had decided to take a holiday in his feet, or at least as much of it as could squeeze itself in there. He'd just noticed the size of the very large and very tall desk and the very large high backed chair he could only see the back of, and nothing of an occupant. He gulped, as much as one can gulp with a very dry mouth and fear constricted throat as he realized the size of a person who would occupy such a large set of furniture.

And then it got worse as the person, er, perhaps creature would be a better description, swung the chair around from his/its seeming perusal of the vast array of torture implements. Harry gulped again, and his sphincter clenched so hard he was sure he'd sucked up a considerable amount of the fabric in his pants, trousers, and whatever the chair was covered with as well.

The man(?) gazed at him in a none too friendly manner for quite a long time, while Harry fought what felt like a losing battle not to pass out. The man(?), a very, very large man(?), with an even paler complexion than your average Londoner in winter, crossed his very, very large arms on the desk in front of him and hunched over, as if very closely examining Harry. The latter felt like a bug under the microscope of a very obsessive and sadistic entomologist. Consequently he tried to gulp again, but found his throat had closed up completely and he could no more gulp than he could have told Hermione how he really felt about her. Nor Wednesday, for that matter, assuming he could get to know her _much_ _better_.

Then, of course, he wondered where that thought about Hermione came from, and further why he'd never thought of that when he was still alive. In point of fact, he wondered where the thought about Wednesday had come from, since he seldom had any thoughts about girls like that... well, except for Cho in third, and fourth, and fifth years, and a certain redhead, but the latter that had never felt quite right for some reason.

He suddenly realized that Ginny looked an awful lot like his mum, just with brown eyes instead of green, and that was just not right. "_No__way,__Jose!__Just __Eeeeeeewwww, __Ick, __Gross,_" were his thoughts on that subject. (And yes, they were capitalized in his mind.) Since the guy, make that big, big guy across from him was just glaring, Harry had felt free, more or less given the intimidation factor involved, to let his mind wander quite briefly, and it occurred to him in that moment the answer to all of the above was two words, or five if you want to get technical: Albus damn-his-arse Dumbledore.

But, then the man, or creature if you will, emitted a very deep and expressive groan followed by one actually spoken word, "Lurch".

Harry thought for a moment, and somehow summoned up the same Gryffindor courage with which he'd faced Voldemort all those times. He replied with a now only somewhat constricted throat. "Hello, Mr Lurch, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. So you're my Grim Reaper? What does that job entail, if I may be so bold?" Somehow Harry had been able to decipher the groan and figured it must have been from talking to Ron Weasley when he was eating, which actually seemed to be most of the time. The boy never said anything at mealtimes, and seldom at other times out of class, that he didn't have a mouthful of something edible; edible being a very relative term, in Harry's opinion.

**Back in Surrey:**

The _almost_ flying Rolls was following the _actually_ flying motorcycle which was descending toward a street well off the motorway they were on. Making several of the abrupt high speed turns his passengers were so fond of, the over-sized driver wheeled the large heavy vehicle off the motorway and in as close of a path as he could manage to that of the unnaturally aerial vehicle. He was determined, as always, to please his employers/family. They were, of course, the seventh generation of Addamses he'd served, and were quite agreeable, as all had been, to his highly taciturn nature. Though not actually an Addams by birth, or rather creation, he was still an accepted part of the family. He chose to be their servant, because it was what he did best. Besides, he was the best bodyguard on the planet, and proud of it. If he was capable of smiling, that thought would have made him do so; he loved his family and his job.

The very large driver was rather glad to have engaged the silencing enchantment so only those inside the vehicle could enjoy the sounds of their high speed run, complete with screaming, screeching tyres and growling engine, as they slid around corners and roared through the small town. It wouldn't do to attract too much attention, given the car was not registered in this country. The chauffeur, butler, and all around family caretaker would have been more than happy to show off his driving skills to any normal bodyguard, but was sure there were none in this burg. And that was a pity, considering how well he was driving through the suburban area.

Back to our story though, after that slight detour: Lurch continued to follow the motorbike until he lost sight of it, while his friend and fellow servant/family member helped to point the way. The disembodied hand, known quite affectionately by the family (and few others) as Thing, had a strong sense of magic and could tell where concentrations of it were at any given time. Therefore it helped keep his large friend aimed more or less in the right direction. It did indicate to Lurch that they were still quite a distance, and, even with their speed averaging over eighty miles per hour through the extensive and confusing streets of the modern housing estate***** it would be a few minutes before they reached their destination.

In the rear of the car Gomez was enjoying the screaming of the tyres as they broad-slid around each corner, but not nearly as much as his wife. Morticia had an enraptured look he was all too familiar with. It was the same look she had when they tortured some hapless fool who had managed to breach the Addams family property enchantments. That didn't happen nearly often enough for either of them, but, as he'd said earlier to her, one can't have everything. Morticia, in short, was nearly orgasmic. He was sure that had he touched her in certain places she would have come _hard_. However, they were close to their destination, he knew, from Thing tapping on the window behind the front seat and signing the message. Sadly, she wouldn't have time to recover before they arrived, as much as he loved to watch her _enjoy_ herself in _that_ way. He thought perhaps later they could… well, best not to complete what he thought.

Now on a straight stretch of street, rare as that was in modern housing, the beautiful black antique Rolls, which didn't seem to reflect any light and used no headlights, at least none in a spectrum visible to normal human eyesight, the car accelerated to speeds which would put a bullet train to shame. Alas, though they had tried their best to please the couple they so faithfully served, Lurch and Thing were quite disappointed to see the flying bike rise over the houses only a few streets away. Once again it flew more or less over the car which would likely also be flying if it had wings. Or the right enchantments, one might suppose.

He hated to disturb the young passengers, but Thing felt compelled to interrupt their latest dance session, during which they seemed to be sucking at _each __other__'__s_ lips this time. Lurch was busy driving at speeds well past totally insane for normal folks, so the bodiless hand felt it best that the large fellow not break his concentration at that moment. Finally gaining the attention of the pair, Thing let them know they had missed the motorcycle, but were still homing in on what appeared to be three other powerful magical sources.

Gomez again looked to Morticia in that non-verbal sensually sultry way they had of communicating, and then spoke to the hand, saying, "Very good, old friend, we look forward to meeting these people, whoever they might be."

Her attention now drawn away from the more pleasant aspects of their journey through Little Whinging, Morticiacould sense the magical sources as well. One seemed to be much more powerful than the others, or at least potentially so. She was sure it was a young child, and hoped it was one of their relatives who had somehow broken free of the normality in these branches of the family. Needless to say, the Addams family, in most all its branches, heartily embraced anything considered abnormal to other people; the more eccentric the better, in any true Addams' way of thinking.

**In that galaxy far, far away … (or was that a dimension not too far away?):**

"Well, that is all very interesting, Mr Lurch, but just how is it that I arrived here." As usual, Harry was clueless about a lot of things, a product of the life in which he'd been led around by the nose. "Last thing I remember I was fighting Lord Snake Face, the sorry arsed berk, and then I'm in that really boring waiting room"

A loud, and long groan was followed by, "eleven times! Asswipe!"

"Hey, who you calling arsewipe? How the bloody hell can you hold me responsible for all that? It sure as shite didn't help that Albus Freakin' Dumbledore screwed up my entire life after my parents were murdered. Hmm, the dick licker might well have even been meddling long before that, for all I know; the long nosed, long fingered twat. His manipulating events and people around him seems to have been a fucking obsession. I don't think the manipulative old bastard could go a day without fucking someone over, all in the name of _the__ greater __good,_ of course. Must be an addiction to the power trip he'd been on for Merlin knows how long."

He was answered with a brief groan accompanied by what was almost a laugh. _Almost_. And the man's(?) face wasn't quite as stormy, more like a heavy shower.

"Really? The barmy old coot _was_ a poofter? So I guess that description of him was accurate after all." Harry laughed, then added. "No wonder he wore all those weird robes. I've seen peacocks that weren't as flashy as him.

Mr Lurch groaned in a manner that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, albeit a brief one. But then he groaned again, looking rather serious for a moment; kind of like the _threat_ of a severe thunderstorm.

"No, no," Harry replied, "I personally have nothing against gays. I'm not certain, but I suspect one of my dorm mates at school is... was... whatever, as well as a few other wizards and witches I know there. Can't prove any of them are, and wouldn't be all that fussed by it. They're just people to me; I had enough prejudiced crap from my uncle to last a lifetime or three." Not that Harry was as free of such things as he thought.

Harry then made the mistake of asking, quite politely, and to what he soon considered his very deep chagrin, "Er, just how did I die all those times, anyway?"

In slightly less time than it takes for Draco Malfoy to sneer, or for Ron Weasley to eat his first plate of any meal (or a dozen biscuits) – in a word, instantaneously – the far less than handsome face before him turned from heavy drizzle with impending thunderstorm to raging thunderstorm with several really bad tornadoes. A very longish groan was interspersed at intervals with, "Cerberus – Quirrell and Riddle – cave-in – basilisk," there was a slight pause as the big fellow (make that extremely big fellow, able to look Hagrid in the eye at the very least) looked a bit less stormy and slightly more thoughtful, while obviously counting on his fingers. Continuing his groaning monologue a moment later, and his/its face morphing to hurricane, he worked in "dragon – friggin' merman – Hagrid's damned skrewt – that idiot Wormtail – inferi – and Riddle – twice more," along with all the rest of the groaning and muttered comments about backward British wizards and witches.

When the man(?) had finally subsided and was still glaring F-five typhoons at him, Harry gulped, and went back over what he'd been told. Then one thing in particular hit him, "Whoa," he exclaimed, probably a bit too enthusiastically under the circumstances, "You're tellin' me I died in all three tasks in that thrice damned tournament? Wait, wouldn't that be four times if I died from Wormy letting me bleed out? Wicked! That's gotta be some kind of record! Go me." But then he looked into the Richter scale twelve-point-five-earthquake-accompanied-by-a-hundred-fifty-foot-tsunami face across the desk from him and gulped again, glad that the desk was as big as it was.

Once again calling on his Gryffindor stupidity, or courage if you must, Harry took a deep breath and complained, "Hey, Mr Lurch, those bollocksed up lives weren't anywhere near all _my_ fault, like I said before. If Albus Perfectly Wonderful Bloody Dumbledore and all the other teachers in that idiotic school had been doing their jobs, maybe..."

He was cut off by another rather long groan.

Now Harry's own mood rocketed back up to _highly__ miffed_, and he retorted, "_How_ was an eleven year old supposed to know that you actually could get killed in that corridor. What kind of a moron brings a priceless, highly sought after artefact into a school full of inquisitive kids, then guards it with a freakin' three headed dog that can, incidentally, be put to sleep with music, for Merlin's sake? And then has the stupidity to tell those same inquisitive kids to stay away? _And,_ locks the door with something that can be opened with a first year spell? And you think it is _my_ fault for getting into that stupid room and the bloody damn dog killing me?"

"And let's talk about the stupid cave-in, for a moment; shall we? Is the gods' damned job of DADA instructor cursed or what? The only applicant that year was a worthless poser, and the Almighty White Bumblebee couldn't figure out how useless he was? How many bloody professors have held that job in the past few decades? And then, of course, Ron the dimwit had to let the brainless twit grab his broken wand; speaking of _morons_. Ah hell, I'll never understand what I saw in that red-headed piss pot. Some friend he turned out to be at times; fair weather, indeed, and dumb as a box of rocks besides."

While Harry paused for a couple of deep breaths after that brief rant, not that he really needed them in his current state of death, he was assaulted with another longish groan, though shorter than some of them. Mr Lurch, it seemed, was generally a man of few words.

"You have got to be kidding. The job really was cursed by ol' Tommy boy?" Harry laughed uproariously for a moment, until he caught an F-five-tornado, albeit inquisitive, glare from across the desk. "Sorry, but that is just too damn funny. Ol' long beard himself had a cursed job in his school, and didn't know it? That is just too rich. No wonder that school is so fucked up. The headmaster had his head so far up his arse he had to..."

Another loud and irate groan interrupted him.

After listening a moment, the newly dead wizard remembered that he was, in fact, already life-challenged and there wasn't a helluva lot this scary being could do to him. However, he was British, and even with society on the decline all over the western world, those from Great Britain considered themselves above too much pettiness – most of the time anyway. He decided to be as polite as possible, under the circumstances, to this fellow with the Yank accent. Harry James Potter was, after all, a proper Brit who couldn't help but feel slightly above the Colonialists across the pond; comes from growing up with an extremely prejudiced man in the house who hated everyone he considered abnormal according to his standards, questionable as those may have been. As was noted previously, sometimes attitudes stick and we don't even know it. Sucks, but that's life.

So, after that short interlude, Harry replied, "Look, Mr Lurch, I was twelve years old, how was I to have any idea the friggin' basilisk would be over twenty fucking metres. Damn fangs were as long as my arms, for Merlin's sake. At least I finally got the bugger, with a lotta help from Fawkes, of course."

The really big guy just continued glaring at F-five typhoon strength.

"Hmm," Harry paused to think a moment, "Wait a minute. You mean to tell me I didn't die in my third year, the only one where that didn't happen?"

He was answered by a groaning nod, and, "Dementors!"

"Oh, they didn't quite get me, but if Fortune hadn't intervened they would have? That's pretty cool she'd do you a favour like that. If you see her, say thanks from me."

A grunt was his brief answer.

"Good, though I wouldn't mind meeting her and the other two bitches, Destiny and Fate, sometime to give 'em a good talking to. Sometimes it totally sucks to be Harry James Potter." Again, one really should be careful of what one wishes for.

Lurch replied with, another longish groan, with, "Whining and complaining," somewhere in the middle of it.

Harry's threat level ratcheted back up one level from _not __amused_ to _quite__ miffed_ over that one. "Hey, if anyone has a right to whine and complain about a bollocksed up life, it _is__ me_. But, I guess you're right, in that there's no use crying over spilt potions and all that."

In answer, the _being_ (Harry decided to go with that description for now) assumed his F-five-plus tornado glare and threw up his hands, accompanied by a from the toes grinding sound rather than his usual groaning speech, at the end of which he articulated, "Fired".

Artificially looking taken aback, the youngster, now lacking a heartbeat and other signs of life, said in a fake horrified voice, "Sweet Merlin, you mean to tell me that just because I got killed eleven times, if I die young one more time and don't live to be older than that dirty old man of a headmaster, then you'll lose this cushy job? Sucks to be you," he added out of pure teenage maliciousness. He then added, "Hmm, eleven times... does that mean I'm kinda like a cat, only because I'm human I've twelve lives instead of nine, but I've only one left?" He then assumed a typical teenager look, that one with which all parents and educators are all too intimately familiar.

The very large Reaper's answer to the wizard's typical teenage I'm-totally-innocent smirky***** look was a face which glared tornadoes, typhoons, planet-splitting earthquakes, and hundred megaton nuclear weapons at him. Harry wasn't really fazed by the other's attitude, even if it did scare the shit out of a portion of his rational mind at a primitive visceral level, which, as is typical of those his age, was still under development of course. Well, the rational part was, anyway.

The two glared or smirked innocently at each other for a couple of minutes, until finally Mr Lurch threw his very big hands in the air, then pinched his nose with his right thumb and forefinger and groaned, also at a visceral level, all while shaking his head.

His countenance back to what Harry assumed was his normal merely threatening a bad storm appearance, the huge being groaned for a few moments, which rant included, "...killed Voldemort..." ending with "... meet your soul mates... some Granger girl..." the rest he groaned as well.

Now Harry truly was taken aback, flabbergasted, gobsmacked, and stunned. Needless to say this is a difficult state to achieve. But finally, he was able to croak out, "You're saying that Hermione... Hermione Jane Granger... the girl who has been my best friend... sometimes my only friend, for most of the past seven years... the girl I've dreamed about using chocolate syrup and having hot wild... erm, forget about that part. So anyway, you're saying she's my _soul__mate_?"

Brief groan, "And one other..." another brief groan.

"What the bloody hell do you mean ONE OTHER? HOW CAN SOUL MATES HAVE TWO SOUL MATES?" Calming a bit from threat level _highly__ ticked_ again, Harry went on, "And I suppose you don't know for sure just who this other girl is? Is she my age or at least close? Is she someone I'd really like? Sheeshe... well, actually I suppose if we're soul mates we'd naturally like each other. Fat lot of good it does to know all this now, when I'm already dead and Hermione is probably sitting at my funeral right now crying her eyes out... and leaning on the red headed wanker while doing so. I think I'm beginning to strongly dislike that guy..." He trailed off, thinking of what he'd missed out on.

A brief groan was followed by a smirky***** look of the being's own and what sounded somewhat like a chuckle, though in a basso-profundo octave. It seemed the fellow had spent too much time around teens and had learned more than a few annoying things from them.

In response Harry neared threat level highly ticked again when he spat, "Sure, laugh it up _Mister_ Lurch; just because you know something I don't, doesn't mean you have to be childish about not telling me." (Evidence has shown that teens hate having their own tricks of obfuscation and smirky***** looks used on them by adults as much as they enjoy using them on said adults.)

Lurch just chuckled in his basso-profundo way, and the two glared at one another for a short while.

However, one more thought surfaced in that still developing portion of Harry's rational mind and he ground out, almost sounding like Lurch, "How in the name of Merlin, Morgana, and Mordred am I supposed to have killed a freakin' dark wizard with fifty or more years study and experience of shite I've never heard of. I asked friggin' Dumbledore the same thing and he just smiled and twinkled at me, the bloody wanker. Said something about LOVE being my greatest power, like I was supposed to have sent flowers and chocolate hearts to the snaky toss-pot." The young man once more stilled, looking at his hands, thinking, _"What __the__ fuck..."?_ He thought, but then stated aloud, "And I was supposed to keep up with not one, but two really brainy birds? Merlin's great big hairy sweaty balls!" Then he fell silent again, contemplating his worn trainers; actually the duct tape holding said footwear together.

Allowing his young charge to stew in his own miserable juices for a bit, which Lurch firmly believed the boy wizard deserved in spades, it was finally _time_ to get the show on the road, so to speak. It was _time_ to make the deal, now that he'd dangled some tantalizing bait out in front of his extremely... difficult... client. He reached over to the side of his desk and pushed a button which alerted some... associates that it was _time_ to work over the mark... er, client, he reminded himself. Harry James Potter was about to discover that it was wise to be careful what one wishes for, no matter how improbable that may seem at the _time_.

*To be continued*

**Final ****A/N**** for ****this ****chapter: ****No,**** really, ****I ****promise, ****the**** last**** one:** Thank Kinsfire for the term "mind woogied". It appears in his great story "A Time to Reflect". You may have noticed, I also woogied the time lines for the Addams universe quite a lot. Sorry if this confuses or irritates the purists, but it is called creative license. Since I'm just borrowing the characters and situations to write fanfiction, that makes it, by its very nature, Alternate Universe.

*****Yes, I know the word "awfulest" does not exist in any known proper dictionary, but when it comes to elevator music, it seemed appropriate – extremely so; *****neither does the word "smirky", but any parent or mid level educator can tell you it is an apt description and probably should be a legal word. *****Estate Housing is what Americans call a subdivision.

Thanks to my beta Mike, aka grenouille7777, and my other beta and Brit-picker extraordinaire Tumshie. Their stories are on fanfiction(dot)net and well worth reading.


	9. Chapter 9 An Addams Alternative 2

**An Addams Alternative**

**by Herman Tumbleweed **

**this chapter co-written with grenouille7777**

**Disclaimer:**Would that I did own these or any other world of fantasy; yet alas I am but the humblest of usurpers, taking the works of others to impart upon them mine own ideas of humour... or lack thereof.

**Note:** grenouille7777 and I are also co-writing Oh No! Not Again! on this same bat-channel. Also, this continues from where chapter one left off.

**Chapter Two: Something Wonky This Way Comes**

**Little Whinging, Surrey (England, for those with OCD):**

Morticia, not to mention Thing, could feel that two of the three magical sources, the weakest and next weakest, had started moving away from the strongest one. Morticia still believed that one to be a young child, while the weakest was definitely an old person, probably male, and the other a rather middle-aged woman she was nearly sure. A fourth, still weaker yet, had been on the motorcycle as it flew overhead.

While Morticia, like most Addamses and those of associated family branches, didn't have magic herself, at least not enough to cast spells with, she and many others could sense magic and perform many magical tasks, such as brewing potions. Oddly, there had been few Addamses, and those of assorted branch families, with much more than what the Brits called _squib __level_ magic in several centuries, but nearly all had some magical abilities. At least that had been true for a number of generations, even if they could trace their roots back to Merlin's great-great-great-great grandparents, or thereabouts. Her mother, Esmeralda Frump, who everyone called Grandmamma**,** was the only known exception to the rule. There had been rumours of a witch here in England who was related in some way, but no one at home had known for sure.

Her brother-in-law, Fester, for example, had an affinity for electricity, able to both absorb and discharge it in great quantities; frequently to the puzzlement of the local power company. Often his discharges were more than spectacular, to the amazement and terror of certain of the Normals who mistakenly took him to be, shall we say, in a costume of sorts, or a homeless person, or better yet, a crazy person. Fester, of course loved being called that last one, and always thanked people for the compliment.

One poor fellow's hair still wouldn't stay lying down, after more than two years, from an unfortunate encounter with Fester. Not that Morticia, Gomez, or anyone else in the family was concerned about it. The lawsuit the man filed had been thrown out of court as soon as the judge saw it; or rather immediately after Gomez had his say in defence of his brother. It seemed the judge went on vacation the next day – for a month. Not that Gomez was in the habit of winning in court, but things did often seem to go his way; it was just that the judge nearly always dismissed things soon after he opened his mouth, for some odd reason.

And that was Gomez's magic, the ability to manipulate things in his or his family's favour, to argue with the best of them, and, of course, to produce legal documents at an amazingly inhuman speed. He was blessed, as well, with the Addams charm, wit, and gift of pure unadulterated bullshit artistry. He could take that to an much higher level than almost any other human since their distant ancestor, Merlin.

Anyroad, the detour into Little Whinging, unlike the detour above, was at its mid-point now as the car slewed rather impressively, and sideways, around the corner onto Privet Drive. Gomez secretly thought it silly in the extreme to name a street after a hedge, but he didn't say so to Morticia, she of the black thumb in the family.

Morticia was known for admiring all sorts of "unusual" plant life, and he was quite sure she would love the odd hedge plants. He wondered if he could import some cuttings for her to experiment with, not realizing that certain varieties were available from his local Normal garden shop in the States. But then, they seldom went to Normal's shops of any kind. He thought she might even manage to cross the interesting hedge with something very thorny for the back black rose garden, or for the bare area the county kept spraying between the street and the front wall around the estate. She often complained that nothing weedy grew there. He hoped that perhaps she could breed something resistant to their sprays.

His thoughts were tossed aside though, as the Rolls came not so gently to a stop; skidded to the curb would be rather more accurate. Their door was positioned in perfect alignment with the front path, naturally. Thing promptly opened the door for the Addamses, and they exited to gaze amusedly at the house with a bold brass number four. Both thought the inhabitants had to be Normals; no Addams within the fold would ever consider having such a boring home and address, much less in such a boringly Normal neighbourhood. Cousin Itt had, for example... well, best not to get into that.

Thing and Morticia had both felt the other magic users disappear from the area, probably by Apparating they assumed, shortly before their own high speed arrival at the location of the very strong magic user. She thought it very strange that the other three would bring some small magical child here, to this average Normal neighbourhood, and just leave, but then she also knew that wizards and witches in the UK were quite lacking in common sense. Logic was, to them, a completely foreign concept which they discounted, much as Normals dismissed the idea of magic. It was well known to the world's magical communities that British magicals thought log-ick was a large ugly piece of a dead tree.

That aside, Morticia could sense the very young wizard was quite close, and not even inside the house. When she mused aloud that this was quite unusual in the modern world, Thing, who was sitting on her shoulder, reminded her with sign language that these magicals still hadn't left the 18th century and it wouldn't be all that far from believable for them to leave a child on someone's doorstep. As she and Gomez approached the house she could see that her body-challenged friend and relative was quite correct.

"Oh Gomez," she practically cooed, "look; they left the child on the stoop just like in the days when people only stole children for wonderfully dark rituals and sacrifices; how marvellously quaint."

While Morticia bent to pick up the child and cuddle him, Thing jumped off her shoulder to ring the bell. He just loved doing that, especially in the middle of the night. People had such wonderful reactions to being awakened, especially by an Addams or two, or three, or, in this case, four since Lurch had followed them out of curiosity. Actually, he already knew what they would find, but wanted to watch the show anyway.

**Meanwhile, back in that other galaxy, er... dimension...**

Harry still sat simmering in the juices of all Mr Lurch had revealed to him. Several times the young wizard looked up with a vacant stare and opened his mouth as if to say something, though a moment later said mouth would snap shut and he'd go back to gazing at whatever it was he was seeing in his imagination. That he was thoroughly perplexed with all he had learned was obvious, as was his inability to deal with it all at once.

To Lurch, it appeared, at times, the kid had nearly reached brain lock, which somewhat made the Reaper feel almost sorry for him. Sort of, that is; well, okay, a very small part of his thinking was leaning very slightly in that direction. It did, however, give the timeless being an interesting idea.

It was at that point they were joined by four other individuals, and Lurch smirked as the door opened and they came in. Harry was about to get a couple of his rather risky wishes fulfilled, though of course he had only offhandedly made those wishes to himself, and didn't really want to go back, or so he thought. He was soon to have his mind changed, though not in a particularly pleasant manner. It was akin to the old closing room used in car dealerships, which was, in fact, where they had gotten the idea.

The young life-challenged wizard was startled out of his most recent personal pity party by the grinding chuckle of his "host". Coming back to his senses, more or less, he knew Lurch had spent a considerable amount of time on him, and since he was a kind person tried not to think too badly of someone who kept sending him back to that crap of a life he had. On the other hand, it had been a very _big_ crap of a life, so he didn't really feel all that bad. In fact he felt almost as bad as he felt for a certain furry old buzzard, which is to say, hardly at all.

Harry wasn't listening too closely at first, but then perked up as introductions were made and his head swivelled to focus his glare on the trio of women who'd entered. The elderly man with them barely got a glance at first, but the triplets got the full treatment, one which can rarely be matched by anyone older than 20.

"So," he growled, "you are the three who have been using Albus Piss-pot Wiping Bonehead Dumbledore to muck up my life for at least the past 17 years, and probably a lot longer than that. Just how is it you justify fucking over people that way? Must be nice to just sit back and say, _"Ooh, __do__ you__ think__ we __can__ ruin __his__ day __in __this __way, __or __would __that __way __be __better?"_ Where do you get off, or should I say _why __do __you __get__ off_, doing that? Bloody foul skanks!" He was greatly exaggerating the last, as the three were, in fact, extraordinarily beautiful women. That they also happened to be what amounted to demigods didn't faze him in the least. He was dead; how much more could they fuck him over? He was about to find out.

The one who'd been introduced as Fate answered first, "Mr Potter, we did not intentionally _muck_, as you say, with your life. There is such a thing as free will, although the instrument we adapted to use in this case, your Mr Doublebore... oh, that was Dumbledore, sorry... has a much larger ego than we anticipated. Consequently he was able to use _his_ free will to deny you _your_ free will through much of your life."

Chronos spoke up, "Unfortunately for you, and for some very complicated reasons, we cannot reset time past when you were orphaned without doing considerable damage to the timelines, and causing our friend Chaos to gloat even more over the way things get out of whack, so to speak."

Harry's head was starting to hurt, but he asked, "Just how far back have you sent me before. I mean, have you actually sent me back to when I was orphaned? If you did, why didn't you do something to keep me out of the hands of those sorry excuses for relatives of mine?" Lurch smiled to himself over that comment. He'd have also rubbed his hands in anticipation, but held himself back so as not to give away the game.

It was Fortune's turn to take the ball, which only served to increase Harry's headache, what with seemingly four people taking turns on him. That, of course, was by design; _and_ he had miscounted.

Speaking in a kindly voice, that belied her inner mirth at her current favourite human (which is not necessarily such a good thing for said human), Fortune told him "We've actually only sent you back a year at a time, at most, so far. As we said, it creates more fun for Chaos, the farther back you go, so we limit it as much as possible. She has entirely too much fun at our expense as it is. However, we have an offer for you, which you might find interesting."

Harry was shaking his head slightly, wondering if the headache could get worse as it was already nearing Voldie-induced proportions. He quickly found out it could, but first he remembered the manners he'd learned somewhere along the way, though he wasn't sure where. "By the way, Ms Fortune," he said kindly, but not too kindly, "thank you for stepping in to allow me not to get killed in my third year. I'm sure Mr Lurch was pleased over that as well."

She smiled more widely, and replied, "You are quite welcome, Mr Potter, and it was my pleasure. I do wish I, or we that is, had been able to step in more often, but that free will thing just seems to get in the way all too frequently." She looked at her sister then. Harry did as well, knowing that he was about to get mind woogied in a different sort of way – not that he felt he could do anything about it at this point.

Destiny smiled alluringly, and said in a soft, sexy voice, "Mr Potter, Harry, we know you've not had it easy in your life. However, you know you have a destiny to fulfil, and we have all wished to go back and fix that so it could be anyone, not just you, who took care of Mr Riddle. But, unfortunately, as Chronos told you, we cannot. However, we have a compromise offer we'd like to make to you. We'd like you to go back to shortly after the incident that orphaned you and to make some major changes to how things have gone previously."

Forget Voldie headaches, this was ratcheting up to migraine levels, as his head, swivelled to the last member of the group of immortals. The one he'd not counted before, but who the others now looked at, and he knew the dragon dung was about to hit the rapidly rotating air moving device.

After a quite prolonged groan, which oddly sounded rather soothing and somehow calmed the headache a bit, Lurch finally got around to some of the details. At his concluding remarks, Harry face palmed, shook his head, and then looked warily around at the five.

"So you're telling me," the mark, or rather client, said a bit testily, "that I can go back to shortly after Allpuss Prick Wanking Bitch Dribblewhore left me on that bloody doorstep, in fucking November no less, the barmy dolt, and that shortly after that I'll be rescued by some other distant relatives who will actually care for me, and that I will meet my two soul mates, which still blows my mind just so you know, and will grow up in a more normal manner. Will I have to put up with the stupid celebrity thing, and the wanking hangers on and groupies like before?"

Fate answered; it was her turn, "No, Harry, at least not until you enter Hogwarts again, and by then you will be well equipped to handle it."

"Well, that's something then, isn't it? " he commented snidely. Harry thought for a few moments, his headache making a grand reappearance, as he looked around at the almost too composed faces. He just knew they were hiding something, after all he'd dealt with Doublebore, (he snickered over that one) Snake, and Griddle for most of seven years. He had come to trust few people, and was absotively, posilutely certain he couldn't fully trust these entities either.

Finally getting back to the matter at hand he asked, "And I get to keep all my memories? How will that work, if I'm only fifteen months old? Won't it seem rather odd to whoever raises me? Seems to me I'd get really, really, bored not being able to talk much, let alone even do much for myself? Hell, I doubt I was even toilet trained at that age."

Chronos took his turn, then, saying, "The method we'll use won't give you all of your memories at first. There'll be very little difference until you are about five, though you will be quite precocious. The memories will begin to fade in over the next year, and by the time you're six you will remember everything. One of the first things you'll recall is why you are remembering."

Harry looked to Fortune, knowing she was next in the rotation, and asked, "Is there anything in particular that I will need to do before I go to Hogwarts?"

He was right in assuming she would answer next, as she smiled again, answering, "Yes, there is one really important thing you will have to do, and that is to be a kid to the best of your ability. Just because you have those memories, doesn't mean you can't enjoy your life. Even after you get to Hogwarts, you'll be able to enjoy your friends and the two companions who'll share in your life's journey. That's because with your foreknowledge of how your headmaster, and I use that term loosely, will have set things up at times you can take care of them quickly. Then you can relax and enjoy school and be a kid the way you could not in your previous incarnations."

The headache was back as bad as ever. Time travel always did this to Harry.

Destiny then added a little fuel to the headache fire. "Just remember, dear, that you don't really have to take care of Riddle, his soul jars, or any of that until at least your fifth or sixth year at Hogwarts, though you could at any time if you so choose to. In fact, the more you can mess with the furry old buzzard's head and plans in those years, by anticipating much of what he'd like to have you involved in, the more fun you, and we, will have."

Harry shook his head trying to clear his thoughts; the idea of messing with Doublebore to the extent being mentioned had a lot of charm to it. He wondered how much fun he and his partners in crime, who would mostly be different people than the last time, or was that times, could have mucking up the old bastard's plans. It made him grin quite maliciously, despite his brain feeling like it was being cooked by a Hungarian Horntail.

Lurch could tell the hook was set, and reeled in the fish, or rather made the final offer to the young man. He led off with a long groaning monologue, ending with "contract", and then offered the several-pages-long document to Harry. His final comments, Harry barely listened to as he started skimming the pages. In later years he would learn from his "uncle" to never sign anything without reading it thoroughly and making sure he understood all of it. There were a few things in this one that he missed, and would kick himself later for not knowing about in advance.

When he'd finished, and thought about it for a few minutes, Harry looked up at each of the carefully schooled-into-benign-looks faces around him. Taking another of those deep breaths he didn't really need, he told them, "I know there's a lot you're not telling me. I've been dealing with people like you my whole short life... er, make that lives I guess. And I know I'm being played here. But it is something I want to do, and there are things that happened before that I don't want to happen this time which I know I can prevent, or change. I'll do it!" He finished with resigned finality. His Gryffindor pride/courage/stupidity got the better of him again, but he'd never truly regret that decision. It was just the not reading and negotiating the contract part he would not be too happy with, to put it mildly.

Lurch handed him a pen, and showed him where to sign, initial, sign again, and again, and again, initialling here and there, until his hand was quite sore. Finally he was done, and sat back. As he let go of the contract it flashed and five copies appeared alongside the original. Lurch kept the original, and handed one to each of the others. As he was doing so, Harry reflected how much easier and comfortable, despite his now sore hand, using a pen had been. He determined not to use a friggin' quill ever again, Dumblebitch and Snarkman be damned.

Harry started to ask, as Lurch handed him his copy last, "When will I..." but he never got to finish that sentence, at least not for five years.

The last thing he heard from the group, or perhaps that should be closers, was Destiny saying, "Be careful which Weasleys you trust. You know who you can and can't." He'd spend some time contemplating that a few years from now, or then, or whatever. Time travel gives everyone headaches.

**We now boldly go where no man or woman should ever go (who is not an Addams)... back to the Dursley household at 0147 hours (that's in the very early a. m., for those who don't know).**

"So, Dursley old man," Gomez said amiably, "I suppose that concludes our business, and we should be on our way. You'll receive your copies of the papers in a few days." The smiling, world renowned, and internationally infamous attorney had to repress a smirk as he took back the papers and black quill (disguised as a fountain pen) both Dursleys had signed in their own blood, unbeknownst to them in their sleep-interrupted-Addams-confused state. Still repressing his smirk, he filed the papers inside his jacket in the space expanded automatic filing system which magically appeared in all his jackets as soon as he donned them. It helped keep him organized so he could spend as much of his time with his family as possible – especially the part where he romanced his lovely wife.

While the aforementioned attorney was suppressing his smirk, Vernon Dursley made no effort whatsoever to hide his rage at both being awakened in the middle of the night and having to deal with _Freaks_. (Yes, he actually capitalized it in his dim little mind.) He grumbled aloud, and a quite loudly, truth be told, something about _Abnormal_ _Freaks_ and _Weirdos,_ going on about their lack of decency and respect for others. His tirade went on for a couple of minutes, and Gomez and Tish just let him ramble.

Morticia had finally recalled, just as they approached the house, what she couldn't remember earlier about another branch of the family here: the Evanses, it turned out quite serendipitously, were that other branch. Not that certain demigods had anything to do with that, of course (wink, wink). The Addamses had, of course, introduced themselves as distant cousins, and this just made it even better.

When the rotund man finally wound down with an inane comment about the Addamses being the worst of the lot, the slick attorney then replied, smiling widely, "Why thank you, old boy, how kind of you to say. And since you both are related to the family, I suppose you would know all about us being abnormal to the best of our ability." Then in his most boisterous manner, he told the deeply frowning and nearly-incandescent-with-rage-pair, "By the by, did the two of you know you are third cousins once removed? No need to thank us, I'm sure you are as pleased about it as we are." Suddenly they were much less red than before. In fact even Grandpa Munster wasn't quite that pale.

Morticia smiled somewhat maliciously at the dumbstruck pair, rocked little Harry in one arm, turned with her husband, and walked sedately with her other arm in his, as they always did, back to the car. When they were in the car, and she was snuggling up to her husband, with the sleeping toddler in her arms, she said softly, "Gomez, dear, I do believe you may have been overacting a bit there at the end."

"Yes, cara mia, I suppose I was." He grinned salaciously at her, knowing what that term would do to her. Then he went on, "But you have to admit they are horribly _Normal_. I hardly think there is more than a drop or two of Addams blood left in either of them."

Still rocking young Harry slightly in her arms, she replied in a smouldering voice, "You'll pay when we get home for using Italian while I can't do anything about it," and smiled back even more salaciously. Raising her voice, and using a normal tone, she said, "Home, Lurch, and step on it."

In the front, the giant of a man gave a knowing glance to Thing, who signed back in agreement. Lurch then floored the pedal on the huge engine under the hood, leaving the gaping pair at Number 4 Privet Drive wincing at the sound and smell of burning rubber. Moments later he pressed a button on the steering column and the rapidly accelerating car blurred and was gone from Great Britain. The Dursleys, on the other hand, would be in England for the rest of their lives, stuck in a marriage neither was willing to end and risk being seen as _abnormal_, Heaven forbid. Neither, of course, ever really understood that they were, by their own definition, _Freaks,_and by another definition unknown to them considered squibs. Nor would they understand how their own darling Dudley could later produce two of those infernal _abnormal__ abominations_.

**Meanwhile, once more in that aforementioned other dimension:**

Hermione found herself sitting in a nondescript waiting room which, like waiting rooms everywhere, was strewn with magazines that were older than most of the people waiting, and even less interesting. This left her at somewhat of a loss – something the brainy Gryffindor seldom found herself in. The last thing she remembered was trying to escape Hogwarts after Harry fell.

Dragging her thoughts away from the loss of her dearest friend, she focused on where she was now. At first, she thought that it could be St Mungo's, but the lack of obvious magical injuries pretty much ruled that out. Not to mention, as a Mudblood, she'd never end up there with Voldemort in control of the country. She noticed that occasionally someone with a clipboard would enter the room and call out a name, followed by a birth and… _death__ date?_

With a slightly hysterical chuckle, she thought,_ "__Great, __I__ must __be__ dead. __At __least__ my __parents__ will __be__ amused__ to __discover __that __the__ entrance __to __the __afterlife __looks __a __lot __like__ the__ waiting __room __in __their__ surgery.__ Rather __fitting, __if __you __think __about __it.__"_

"Granger, Hermione Jane, born Nineteenth September, Nineteen Seventy-nine, died Second May, Nineteen Ninety-eight," announced a bored sounding, flat, sexy, voice.

Looking up, Hermione saw a young woman, about her age, in a slinky, form-fitting black dress and stiletto heels.

As the brunette rose and approached the other young woman, she appraised her as only a woman can. "I'm Hermione Granger,"she announced herself, while thinking morosely, _"__Jeese,__ what__ a __skank. __I__ guess __I__'__m__ not__ gonna __lose __my__ virginity __to __anyone__ decent__ here, __either, __if__ they __all __look __like __her.__"_

"Please follow me," the stranger said as she made a mark on her clipboard. "One of my superiors is anxious to see you. Again." The last word was spoken in a nearly inaudible undertone. Her intense, yet oddly dead-looking eyes, surrounded by a deathly pale complexion, betrayed a flash of emotion as she looked Hermione up and down quickly, as if appraising her in turn. After finishing her inspection, she turned and exited the waiting room.

Hurriedly following in her wake, Hermione noticed the other girl's long, inky-black hair that, while tied in a long braid, still just reached the top of a fine, firm bum as she sex-walked just ahead and to Hermione's left. _"__Oh __well,__" _she thought, _"__at __least __she __has__ the __body __for __that __outfit. __Might __be__ nice __to __get __to __know __her, __anyway.__ Hmm,__ she __seems __rather __familiar __somehow.__"_

Her never-ending need to know had followed her to wherever she was, so she called out, "Excuse me, Miss?"

"Yes?" was the response, accompanied by a slight turn of the head, although the dark-haired beauty didn't slow down as she sauntered down the bland hallway, past the innumerable equally bland, yet oddly contrasting, doors.

Drawing on her Gryffindor courage, the now-apparently-dead witch asked, "May I ask who you are, and where we are going?"

The black-haired young woman stopped and slowly turned in place. "Oh, my; two polite, young, and attractive clients in a row," she replied saucily as she repeated her earlier appraisal, though more slowly this time. She seemed to be drinking in Hermione's appearance making the girl under assessment flush a bit. "My name is Wednesday, and I'm taking you to see your Grim Reaper. You do realize that you've died, don't you?" Her flat, yet sexy, voice, as well as her soft American accent, took the sting out of the question, in spite of the nearly inaudible "Again" that was tacked on to the end.

"I-I guess." Hermione countered Wednesday's frankly blatant visual appraisal with one of her own, barely noticing the profound effect the other girl was having on her own hormones. It didn't occur to the young genius that someone who was no longer among the living shouldn't _have_ hormones. In her defence though, she did have a number of other things on her mind, so can thusly be given a little slack for her missing this one relatively minor detail.

Wednesday, apparently finished with her frank evaluation, continued to lead the way until she arrived at a door that looked like all of the others. Opening it, she gestured for Hermione to enter, commenting, "It was nice to meet you, Hermione. Perhaps we'll see each other again." She sex-walked off with a tiny, but lusty, grin cast back over her shoulder; not waiting for a response.

"C'mon in, sweetheart. Take a seat," came a gravelly, Brooklyn-accented voice. Hermione did as she was bid, closing the door behind her – an act she immediately regretted as a cloud of pungent cigar smoke came billowing towards her.

Sitting at an expansive desk was an ancient man with skin that was even more pale than Wednesday's, other than the slight greenish sheen. His more-salt-than-pepper hair was thinning, except for the whitish tufts above his ears. Hermione was accustomed to the odd sense of fashion displayed in the Wizarding World, but the tuxedo (black tails, white bow-tie and vest, with a blood red ribbon holding some sort of medallion included) the ancient man, who seemed to make Dumbledore look like an ickle firstie, was wearing was at least four hundred years out of date. The tux, that is; the man she had no idea what to make of. "_Hmm,"_ she thought, _"perhaps __I__ should__ make __that __being. __Not __really __sure __if__ he's __actually __human, __or..."_

Her thoughts were interrupted by the old _being_, saying, "Gimme just a sec, here, sweetheart, while I look this over, I'm kinda new at this. Oh, and I'm Sam, but most just call me Grandpa." He picked up a file from the desk, then put it back down as he rummaged through his pockets. Snapping his fingers, he yelled, "Igor! Get back here with my glasses!" Looking around, he muttered, "Damn flying rat…"

Out of a corner of the office, a large bat appeared, wearing a human-sized pair of black, horn-rimmed reading glasses. It hovered, as if on a wire, just out of the old man's reach. Sam half rose, viciously snatched the glasses off of the flying rodent, put them on as he plopped back in the chair, and started to read the file.

"Pardon me, sir," Hermione started, "ah, Sam? Can you tell me why I'm here?"

"You're here 'cause you're dead," he retorted with more than a bit of snarkiness. "Now gimme a minute to see what's going on here." He continued to peruse what was obviously Hermione's file, muttering to himself the whole time. "Let's see, now. Troll, three-headed dog, big-assed snake, soul-sucking demons… all harmless enough… drowning – now that's no fun… curse… botched love potion – what kind of moron could screw that up… and a couple more curses… let's see… one, two, three… ah, the hell with it." Looking up, he saw that the young woman across the desk had turned paler than he was.

He reached across and patted her hand tenderly. "Now, now, it's okay. Dying ain't so bad. I've died more than a few times myself. Can't help it when you've been married a hundred and sixty-eight times. A couple of 'em are bound to kill ya." Sitting back, he took a big puff of his nasty-smelling cigar and expelled it in a big sigh. "See, here's the thing… I'm not wha'd'ya call a regular Reaper. I'm just sitting in for a friend who's got a client that thinks he should be returned to life and, in his words, _won__'__t __fucking__ shut __up __about__ it_."

This outburst elicited a shocked giggle from the girl.

Chuckling himself, Sam continued, "I guess the bastard has been going on about some kinda "Greater Good" nonsense for over a year, now. What was his name? Dumbear, Dumbdoor, Bumblemore…"

"Dumbledore?" Hermione asked in amazement.

Sam snapped his fingers again in glee. "Yeah, that's the idiot. Bah! Send him on, I say, and be done with it. Got better things to do than mess with that youngster. Ya know, back in the old country…" He waved his hands in a dismissive gesture, "Nah, never mind that, now. Let's get back to you."

Taking another puff from his cigar, he went on, "Like I said, I don't usually don't do this, so bear with me. It seems like you've already died a bunch'a times you weren't supposed to and the powers-that-be decided to give you a last chance to get it right without screwing it up." He glared at the ceiling. "Kids; gotta give 'em chance after chance," he muttered to no one in particular. "Now in the old days…" Shaking his head rapidly and waving his hands again, he returned his attention to the confused young witch.

"Now, my dear, I get to give you all the basics since those damn demi-gods…" he then muttered imprecations under his breath, "are dealing with another 'second chance' so I get the pleasure. Lucky me," he added, sarcasm dripping like honey, or partially coagulated blood, depending on your preference.

"Are you trying to tell me," Hermione interrupted as her hysteria level increased once again, "that I've died _every __year __I__'__ve __been__ at __Hogwarts?__ At__ least __once __each __year?_"

"Yes, that's _exactly_ what I'm saying. Now quit interrupting so we can get this done. From what it says here," he indicated the file in front of him, "you were supposed to help beat this Voldi-whatsis clown and, along with your soul mates, usher in a new era for something-or-other. I dunno what's all the fuss, but that's what they want."

"Soul mates? As in more than one?" Hermione gasped in shock.

"Yes, more than one," he rebuked snidely. "That's what it means when you put an 's' on the end of a word. Don't they teach kids anything these days? Now don't ask me who they are 'cause I didn't pay attention, alright? Something about a kid with a scar on his forehead."

"_Scar,__"_ Hermione thought. _"__Scar__…__?__ Harry?__ Harry__'__s __my __soul mate? __Or __one__ of __them, __anyway?__ If __I__ weren__'__t __already __dead, __I __think__ one __more __surprise __like __this__ would __kill__ me.__"_

"Okay now, Missy, let's try and finish up here. I've got an experiment going on in my lab and my daughter will kill me if I blow up the house again."

"Kill you? You-you're a vampire, right? How can you be killed?"

"You got something against vampires, kid?" Sam snapped angrily, the ever-present cigar smoke billowing around them.

"N-no, sir. I just thought…"

"I just thought," he mocked in a whiny voice. "I can't believe how kids are these days. In all my six hundred and thirty one years… Anyway, here's the deal so pay attention: the Fates are gonna send you back to when you were a baby; with one difference. Your mother will be, um, convinced to have more contact with her family, which, coincidentally, is _my_ family."

"Y-your family? But how?"

"Your mom was raised by her aunt and uncle – my daughter, Lily, and her good-for-nothin' husband, Herman – ever since she was a baby." He seemed to collapse into himself as he sighed deeply. "Poor Marilyn. We thought she'd never get a husband as disfigured as she was. We tried everything we could think of. Witch Doctors, potions, spells, but nothin' ever seemed to work. She always came out with that movie starlet look – blonde hair and all." He shuddered visibly.

Collecting himself, he looked carefully at his great-(plus a whole bunch more greats)-grand-daughter. "She eventually met your dad and he took her off to England. We get a few letters here and there, but we haven't seen her since. We loved her in spite of her looks, and still do, but we miss her. I'd like to take that Roger and… grrrrrrrr!" He made a choking motion with his hands.

Hermione's thoughts were spinning out of control through all of this, but one thought struck through and passed her lips, "I-I have vampire blood?"

Sitting up straight in an odd mixture of outrage and pride, the old vampire declared, "Not just any vampire blood," he placed one hand on his chest, "but that of the Dracula Family. The oldest and most prominent in all of Transylvania."

"_You__'__re_ Count Dracula? _The_ Count Dracula?"

"Yup, that's me," he nodded vigorously with a wide smile. "Sam Dracula, Count of Transylvania."

"I thought that Vladimir was the Count?"

"Nah, that was my brother. Damn fool. He changed into a bat one day and chased a bug into one of those bug-zapper things. Burnt 'im to a crisp."

"But… that means… that I'm not a Muggleborn," she realized excitedly. "I'm related to one of the oldest Pureblood families…"

"Blood, schmlood," he dismissed the issue with another flamboyant wave of his hands. "I've heard about those crazy limeys and their blood nonsense. Blood means nothin'. Well… except as a really tasty snack.

"Anyway, back to business. The Powers have decided to send you back, but with all of your memories." He glanced again at the file in front of him. "But you'll remember nothin' 'bout it 'till you're seven, when your soul mates do. Those infernal demi-goddesses, and boy are they goddesses... whoowee. Uh, sorry, kid. Anyway, they got some complicated plan here to do this, but, bah, you'll find out soon enough. They're gonna arrange for your mom to get back in touch with the rest of us, so you can be raised properly and meet your soul mates early enough that none of this other nonsense…" He shook his head. "This is way too complicated, but what can ya do?"

"Well, let's get this show on the road. I'll see you shortly, but you won't remember me for a few years, I'm afraid," he concluded with a loud clap of his hands.

"But, what hap…" was all Hermione managed to get out as everything went black for her and she faded from sight.

Rubbing his hands together, Sam then turned to the last file on the desk and began to read it while puffing heavily on his seemingly never-ending cigar. _"__Hm,__"_ he thought, _"__so __this __is__ the__ idiot __that__ can__'__t__ make __a__ simple __love__ potion.__ Let__'__s__ see,__now__… __that__ damned__ dog__ again__… __uh __hunh__… __oh, __my__… __dolt__… __traitor__… __whoring __out__ his __own __sister__… __this __guy__'__s __too __stupid __to __be __alive.__ Bah!__ Should __just __send __him __to __the__ lowest__ reaches__ of __hell__… __Oh,__ good,__ good,__ that__'__s__ what__ they__'__re __gonna__ do.__"_

Looking up from the report, he called out to Wednesday, "Hey, sweetie? Bring in this Ronald Weasley character." Sitting back in his chair, he snorted to himself,_ "__Bilius? __What __kinda__ stupid__ name __is__ that?__"_

**Some forty miles southeast of Little Whinging:**

Marilyn Granger sat in the old rocking chair, cuddling her two-year-old daughter. As much as she loved the child, she couldn't help but be sad that Hermione had inherited her disfigurement. Granted, Roger told his wife at every opportunity that she was beautiful, but he was obviously biased. _"__Probably __just __likes__ that __trick __with __my __tongue,__"_she thought, although she knew he loved her as deeply as she loved him.

Relaxing in the mouldy dampness of the dungeon of the old castle they'd purchased just outside of London, she set her gaze on the sleeping bundle in her lap. _"__Well,__"_ the young mum considered,_ "__she__ does__ have __some __redeeming __features. __Her __hair __resembles __our__ many-times-great __Aunt__ Medusa__'__s, __and__ Grandpa __will __probably __like__ her__ teeth, __the__ way __they__'__re__ coming__ in.__"_ She sighed, realizing that young Hermione's clear, rosy complexion and bright, chocolate brown eyes would probably frighten their relatives back in Mockingbird Heights.

That, she realized, was the source of her anguish. Seven years living in London among others equally as disfigured as she was had numbed her to the condition. Now, with their flight back to the States to visit her family less than twenty-four hours away, her insecurities were returning with a vengeance. Oh, she knew that they'd accept Hermione, and love her as much as they did her, but thinking of the sadness and pity that would be hidden in Aunt Lily's black eyes was almost more than she could handle. Uncle Herman, as could be expected, would be oblivious and probably just take the little girl out to the swamp in the back yard to play with the alligators. Hopefully, Cousin Eddie would have finally quit smoking all that oleander (or was it oregano), so as to not set a bad example for his young cousin.

One more thought struck her. Some dear old friends, who were distant relatives as well, lived not too far from her family. _"__I __do __hope __we__'__ll __have __time__ to__ visit __the __Addamses.__ They __are __such __lovely__ people,__ and __it__ has__ been__ years __since__ I__'__ve__ seen __Morticia. __I__ believe __Roger __and __I __will __just __have __to __make__ time. __After __all, __he__ sees__ his__ family__ so __frequently.__" _

At that moment little Hermione gave a bit of a start in her sleep, and seemed to mutter, "...pens now?" Marilyn gave it no thought, since her child was already known to be a genius.

**A/N:** grenouille7777, aka Mike, wrote roughly the last half of this chapter, starting with Hermi's trip through Death Inc, though I have to admit to tweaking it some here and there. And then the man has the temerity to claim he can't write humour. Kids these days... (as Sam would say). {Note from 'the kid': So says an even bigger kid… _smirk._} So, thanks to the _youngster_ for his help on that and his excellent beta skills. Thanks are due, as always, to Tumshe for his great beta skills and Brit picking to help with making this as authentically Limey as a couple of old hippies can.

One last thought, calling Dumbledore Dumbear is a nod in the general direction of one of my favourite movies, Dances With Wolves. In one scene, Dunbar is trying to teach one of the Lakotas his name and that is what the man them calls him at that one point. Arguably the best movie Kevin Kostner was ever in, and well worth watching.


End file.
